


Growing Pains

by thewaythatwerust



Series: Peppermint and Pining [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (Kind of) Double Penetration, (So fucking much) Explicit Sexual Content, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst, Baker Bucky Barnes, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Check Author Notes on Each Chapter for Kink Info, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doctor Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Feminization, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate use of foodstuffs, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Male Lactation, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mentions of (the possibility of) Abortions and Miscarriages, Mirror Sex, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Bucky Barnes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, POV Alternating, Physical Altercations, Possessive Sex, Pregnant Sex, References to Past Medical Trauma, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Slick squirting, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaythatwerust/pseuds/thewaythatwerust
Summary: Two little lines will change everything.———The pregnant!Bucky sequel to 'A Perfect Prescription' / 'Just What The Doctor Ordered'.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Peppermint and Pining [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774630
Comments: 493
Kudos: 613





	1. One Hundred and Sixty-Eight Hours

**Author's Note:**

> i. It's heeeeerreee. /flops/ Okay, don't at me about the size -- good things come in smol packages, right? Besides, this is a bonus, non-angsty chapter. Initially, it was going to start with the next chapter, but I wanted to give a little slice of life moment before I throw you to the wolves.
> 
> ii. The tags are listed for the fic in it's entirety, though because I'm writing/updating, not posting a finished work, I'm bound to add more. If you see a kink that isn't your thing, but you still want to read the story, fear not! All kinks will be tagged in the chapters they appear in, with magic portkeys to allow you to skip the smut in that chapter in if you so choose. :) 
> 
> iii. I am not adding characters to the Character section for spoilery reasons regarding Steve's Ex, but, please be warned that Rollins & Rumlow will be making an appearance (& reappearance) so if you need to prepare yourself, consider this your heads up. (Though there will be one for the chapter in which they appear, also.)
> 
> iv. I don't have a posting schedule for this yet, it depends on how fast I write/where the energy is. I have a fair few of the later chapters written, I just need to get to that point. :P Feel free to poke me on tumblr @thewaythatwerust if I'm taking too long--you'll either be rewarded with a chapter or else a runner up gif prize. It's a 50/50 shot. <33
> 
> v. As always, I am shamelessly comment-powered, so, if you like my words and want more words, feel free to leave some of your own in the little talky box, or come hang out with me on tumblr (be warned: spoilers live there!).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cheer up, Buck. It’s only for a week.”
> 
> “Yeah, a week,” Bucky replies morosely. “Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours.”

“You’re so pretty when you’re pouting,” Steve murmurs, unable to stop himself. The statement earns him a disgruntled noise from Bucky, scrunching his nose in such a damn adorable way that Steve reaches his finger over without thought to tap it gently. “Cheer up, Buck. It’s only for a week.”

“Yeah, a week,” Bucky replies morosely. “Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours.”

Steve snorts but fights to keep his lips even, pressing them together tightly for a good ten seconds until he’s confident the laugh itching up his throat won’t spill free. Warmth floods his chest, the intensity of just how much he loves the man next to him catching him off-guard. He should be used to this feeling by now, but sometimes it feels so big, _too big_ , threatening to well up and consume him. He nudges Bucky with his shoulder gently. “When did you google how many hours there are in a week?”

“This morning,” Bucky replies sourly, lips pinching further.

“And you’ve been waiting all day for the right time to use it, huh?” Steve loses his fight to contain his amusement, grinning as he spears the last piece of pie with his fork before lifting it to his lips. “You know what they say about absence, baby.” The tart lemon bursts bright on his tongue and he can’t stop the small, appreciative moan rumbling in the back of his throat as he chews, watching Bucky staring at his plate, dragging a fork through the meringue topping of his own untouched pie.

“Yeah, that it’s not great for new relationships,” Bucky shoots back.

The dessert sliding down Steve’s throat clashes with the laughter bubbling up, and he chokes roughly, trying to dislodge the crumbs that he had inadvertently sucked into his lungs. Bucky finally looks up at the noise, the concern in his eyes momentarily rising above the stormy cloud of emotion that has been darkening increasingly since they sat down to dinner—their last for a week. He pulls in deep breaths through his nose before expelling the air out through his mouth with racking coughs, his chest burning and eyes watering. Bucky opens his mouth, but Steve holds up a hand, shaking his head until the coughing finally subsides. “I haven’t heard that version,” he rasps before clearing his throat. “Pretty sure it makes the heart grow fonder, Buck.”

Bucky’s sigh is followed by the metallic clang of his fork being abandoned. Pushing to his feet, he grabs his still-full plate before reaching to take Steve’s empty one. “That is a stupid saying,” he grumbles. “Besides, it’s not possible,” he calls over his shoulder as he takes the plates to the kitchen, “my heart can’t get any fonder—maximum fondness has already been achieved.”

Steve twists in his chair, watching Bucky’s progress placing the neglected pie in the refrigerator before depositing the rest of his load beside the sink with the other dishes. His shoulders are hunched, a picture of dejection as he fills the sink, sighing as he adds soap and swirls it through the water with a blue-handled dish scrubber.

Having Bucky in his home still stirs the same indescribable happiness in Steve today as it had that very first day. Bucky fit in his life like he was designed for it, like there was a Bucky-shaped hole just waiting to be filled.

They’ve been inseparable since they’d started, well, dating doesn’t sound right—not when they can barely drag themselves out, more content to stay in and spend long hours wrapped around each other in bed, or on the couch, or in the shower, or…well, he's not sure there's a surface in either apartment that has escaped their frenzied attention. And he isn’t sure living together covers the fact they spend their days alternating apartments—wherever he comes home from work to find Bucky is usually where they spend the night.

Steve had even missed work again the day after his grand but bungled confession, unable to pry themselves from the bed except to forage for sustenance, which had led to a very large mess when he’d followed his omega to the kitchen and, unwilling to sacrifice the precious seconds it would have taken to return to the bedroom, he’d made a feast of Bucky on this very table. Again.

He traces his fingers over the dark wood, smiling at the recollections. Clint had been ropable, but it'd been worth it. And his best friend had come around quickly, approving of Bucky’s new status in Steve’s life with a broad smile, a roll of his eyes, and an exaggerated huff that sounded very much like ‘about fucking time.’

Abandoning the memories of happiness for the flesh and blood embodiment of it standing before him, he ambles over to Bucky and plasters himself to his omega’s back. His arms encircle the slim waist, taking the path traced so often in the past weeks it has become second nature—his need to pull Bucky into his arms whenever close enough remains unflagging. He drops his chin to rest atop a shoulder hidden by the dark cotton of one of his own shirts, and the enticing lure of shared scents teases his nose, and all at once, Steve’s heart isn’t the only thing filling, fit to bursting. “You could always change your mind and come with me," he hums against Bucky's ear. "You could explore the city during the day, and come back to the hotel and see how many noise complaints you could wrack up each night."

“The noise complaints would be your fault.”

Bucky’s breathless retort makes Steve smile. Lifting his hand to sweep the dark hair resting on Bucky's shoulder aside, he brushes his fingertips over the smooth line of his omega's neck. “I know,” he husks before pressing a gentle kiss to the exposed skin. “I love making you make those noises for me, baby.” Bucky moans and arches back at that, and Steve's arm, still curled possessively around his waist, tightens. He'll never stop being awed at Bucky's reaction to him, always so hot and responsive, melting into every embrace, flooding the air with the sweet scent of arousal and slicking up for him with nothing more than a lingering look or a tender touch. Steve growls low in his throat as he cants his hips forward to drag a long, slow line full of promise against Bucky's ass. "Wanna make some for me now, sweetheart?"

For a moment, Steve thinks Bucky's going to spin in his hold, look up at him with those beautiful eyes full of need, and beg to be taken hard against the counter. It wouldn't be the first time—so many desserts have been ruined by Bucky making too much noise to hear the timer go off—but the soft whimper shifts to a groan as he steps out of the embrace, and turns to swat Steve on the arm with the brush. It leaves a damp patch soaking into his shirt, now decorated with a cluster of soap bubbles, and Bucky grins at the mess. “Don’t just stand there trying to rile me up, make yourself useful.”

Steve chuckles, pressing another kiss to the enticing curve of Bucky’s neck before letting the dark curtain of hair fall back down. “Yes, honey.” He taps Bucky on the ass—smiling when denim-clad hips jerk forward—before grabbing the dishtowel hanging over the oven handle.

A sultry breath of air pushes in through the kitchen window, making the curtain flutter weakly as they work in companionable silence. The familiar task requires no concentration and Steve lets his mind drift.

After such a turbulent start to their relationship, he had been a little wary, expecting things to start as they mean to continue, with misunderstandings and miscommunications, but nothing could have been further from the truth. There were no growing pains, they just fit into each other’s lives so seamlessly that everything has just been _easy_. Sharing stories about their day over dinner and cleaning up together afterward—Bucky insisting on doing it ‘the old school way’ because ‘stacking and unstacking the dishwasher takes longer than doing it by hand’—before curling up together on the couch, almost getting half-way through a movie before gentle caresses turn into desperate grasping, their desire for each other insatiable, only growing as the days go by.

Abruptly, Bucky turns, leans back against the sink, and sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel bad about leaving, I know you have to go, I’m just feeling… a bit off.”

Abandoning the last items on the rack, Steve slings the dishtowel over his shoulder and comes to stand in front of Bucky, planting his hands on those gorgeous hips, exerting a little extra pressure to massage small, soothing circles through the thick fabric with his fingertips. “You going all doom and gloom on me again?”

Bucky shakes his head, but those dark clouds are still haunting his eyes. “I think I’m just dreading not having you here. I’ve gotten used to seeing you every day, it’s going to be hard to go from all to nothing.”

Steve's heart aches at the confession. It's hard to find the words to soothe the pain when it's a pain he shares. A week away from Bucky will feel like an eternity, and the closer the day comes to leave the less he wants to, but he's stealed himself for it, wanting to be strong for Bucky. “I know, baby. I feel the same way. But it’s not going to be _nothing;_ I’ll be calling you every single night.”

Bucky’s lips bloom into a small smile—the first in hours—but still, it trembles under the weight of the hope it carries. “Yeah?”

With a small smile of his own, Steve presses a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose. “Yeah. You think I can go a week without hearing your voice or seeing your beautiful face? Wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a thing,” he winks, watching Bucky preen at the words, desire now the only thing darkening those light eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it, just in time for our one month anniversary.” 

Warmth shadows Bucky's hands as he slides them up Steve’s arms, riding the rise of his shoulders before coming to lock loosely around his neck. “You better be. I’m not saving you any cake if you miss it.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, trying to train his face blank. He has no intention of missing it, not when he has such big plans. “Oh, you gonna make us a cake?” He grinds slowly against Bucky, delighting in the way blunt nails press deeper into his skin. “You gonna sit in my lap and let me feed it to you?”

With a whine, Bucky’s hips surge forward, chasing the delicious friction. His thick swallow makes his throat bob roughly, and Steve bends to mouth at the masculine swell when it stills, running his tongue over the skin, taking the taste of salted sweat and the unique sweetness that is his omega into his mouth, suckling gently. “You’re trying to distract me,” Bucky gasps, tangling his fingers in Steve's hair and pulling him away.

Reluctantly, Steve straightens, the taste of Bucky still tingling on his tongue, tasting like love and home and sinful promises for the hours to come. “Is it working?”

Bucky rakes his nails down Steve's shirt, stopping over his belly to twist his hands in the fabric tightly. He tugs sharply, letting the neckband bite at Steve’s nape and urge him down, right to Bucky’s waiting lips, keeping only a whisper of space between them. “Of course it’s working, it _always_ works.” The quiet words dance over Steve’s lips, and he licks them, greedy to taste Bucky's surrender. “Besides, tonight is our last night together for one hundred and sixty-eight hours, gotta make it count.”

“Oh, it’ll count, sweet thing,” Steve murmurs. He sweeps Bucky into his arms, chuckling at the surprised squeak as he readjusts his hands under Bucky’s thighs, pulling him more tightly against his chest as he strides into the bedroom. He'll spend the night taking Bucky apart with his hands and mouth and cock, stripping the doubts and fears that gnaw at the deep, dark places of his beautiful omega's mind, until he's sated and safe and sure that everything's going to be okay. Because it will be. Steve'll go, he'll come back, and there'll be cake…and, hopefully, if everything goes according to plan, it won't be the only thing he'll be sinking his teeth into.


	2. All The Time In The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. Apologies this took so long. I always seem to get bogged down in giant smut chapters, so... with the amount of porn in this thing, you can expect this trend to continue, ha. But speaking of giant smut chapters.. this is 11k and at least 10k of that is straight-up gay porn. Consider yourself warned. Please hydrate if you're prone to springing leaks, have some snacks nearby, y'know.. the essentials. 
> 
> ii. Thank you for flying Bellybean air, we know you have a lot of choices when it comes to ABO fics, so we’re pleased to have you aboard. Please take a moment to read the safety pamphlet below if you have fic/smut allergies to ensure a safe flight. 
> 
> This chapter sees the following kinks: dirty talk, daddy kink, face riding/rimming, slick squirting, begging, overstimulation, and I guess...knot fucking. Oh, and pet name overload because this Steve always goes all kinds of sweet on Buck and just insists on it. Idek.
> 
> I know the daddy kink poll on APP was split 50/50, so for those that don't like it, I present thee with options!  
> ♦ When you reach the first " # " this is when the first mentions of Daddy start.  
> ♦ However. If you're not completely squicked by it, and don't mind reading through a couple of light references, I would recommend reading to the " ## " if you'd like some extra schmoopy sweetness and love declarations. The real Daddy kink kicks in after those two hashtags.  
> ♦ Either way, you can speed past go, do not collect multiple orgasms, and jump straight to the other side by searching (ctrl+F) to find the second solo " # " (or, you can skip the chapter completely if you so choose, of course!). 
> 
> I'm not sure what quantifies light/heavy daddy kink these days, but according to firefox, in these 11,768 words, 'daddy' appears 35 times. Do with that what you will.
> 
> iii. The cute little divider from [firefly-graphics](https://firefly-graphics.tumblr.com) I love their stuff, check them out. <3
> 
> iv. As always, I'm always happy for you to share your thoughts, squees or keysmashes, emojis, screaming, etc. Give it to meeee. \o/
> 
> v. Annnnd... have I told you guys lately I love you? Because I do. ♥♥♥ Thanks for sticking around, or coming back like a boomerang, either/or. Both are valid! ♥

The shuddering breath Bucky pulls into his lungs is hot and wet, just like the rest of his spent, aching body. The milky fluid of his release looks strangely pretty in the morning light, his heated skin a canvas for the streaks and drips painting his chest and belly. And if he's a work of art, then Steve is undoubtedly the artist, coaxing the second orgasm from him with nothing more than sweet words and stern commands.  
  
The expensive cotton sheets draped over the marshmallow-soft mattress are higher thread count than those falling in a wrinkled canopy over his own bed a floor below, but it doesn't stop them sticking to the slick coating his thighs and sweat-damp back as he stretches and flops over onto his belly.  
  
He really should have changed them long before now, but Steve's scent still lingers on them, just as it clings to the small mountain of clothes he'd scrounged from the hamper, and he couldn't bring himself to surrender the little piece of his alpha that remains in the apartment. It's the only comfort he's found in Steve's absence, and with the roiling sea of emotion he's been for this past week, he's been taking small pleasures where he can find them. It's nowhere near enough, just a temporary balm for the ever-increasing twisting of his gut, but a piece of Steve, no matter how unsubstantial, is better than having none at all... though thankfully, it hasn't been his _only_ one.  
  
Steve had kept his promise, of course, calling every morning while the heaviness of sleep's embrace still wrapped around Bucky and pulled at his eyelids. It had only been on day three that he'd realized if he kept them closed, the velvet-gravel rumbling into his ear was almost enough for him to believe Steve wasn't on the other side of the country, but beside him in bed where he belonged. But Bucky couldn't fight the truth forever, and the harsh reality of another day alone was always there to greet him when his eyes finally opened.  
  
He hadn't even made it through twenty-four hours before he'd wished he'd given in to Steve's cajoling and just gone with him. Stupidly, though, Bucky had cited the three commissions and his fear of dying in a fiery plane crash as reasons enough to stay, thinking it couldn't really be _that_ bad. After all, he's survived twenty-five years without Steven Grant Rogers; he thought he could handle a week alone.

And he'd been right, technically. It's not like he needed to see Steve every day; it's just... the days were _so much better_ when he did. He should be alarmed by how quickly Steve has become such an essential piece of his life, but he's been too busy missing every single thing about his alpha—the calming presence and easy smile, the teasing words and contagious laugh, the feel of hands so big but gentle running through his hair as he lay his head in Steve's lap while they watch tv, or feel them running down his back and squeezing at his ass as they made love in bed… or on the couch… or fucked hard and rough in the kitchen or the shower…  
  
Bucky groans and shoves his face into the pillow, the scent of his own shampoo and sweat filling his nose. The stuffing shifts under the pressure, his face sinking deeper, and he has to work to draw air into his lungs—a perverse satisfaction settling deep in response to the claustrophobia prickling at the base of his skull. He waits for one breath longer than he thinks he has in him before dragging his face to the side, huffing the air from his lungs and then pulling in more.  
  
He should feel some sense of pride; he'd made it through six whole days alone… _barely._ They were long and lonely, and the only thing getting him through was seeing that ridiculously gorgeous face filling his phone screen every night, when Steve would share stories about his day at the med expo, ask about Bucky's day, and count down the hours until they'd be together again.

But Bucky lived for when Steve's voice changed, dropped low to the special one he reserved only for Bucky—rough and sweet, every word dripping in sin—and the talk became _'how much are you missing me?'_ and _'show me, baby.'_ Then, he would devour the sight of Steve's large hand curling around himself as he did the same, losing himself in the ecstasy of Steve's low growls, filthy words, and the gasp of his name on those plush lips. He could forget, just for a moment, the dull emptiness growing inside him—or, the one in his _chest,_ at least.  
  
And after, when he was an exhausted mess, even with the miles between them, that soothing voice was the last thing he heard each night—Steve never hanging up before Bucky was asleep.  
But as the days had stretched out, his desires had grown, become impatient, and he'd resorted to seeking further empty pleasure alone.  
  
Well... until this morning, at least.  
  
Whether Steve had heard the need hiding in his words or the hitch in his breath or the little whine he'd let slip at the 'good boy,' he isn't sure, but Steve had just known. With a husked-out voice, he'd guided Bucky to his first peak quickly before demanding a second in hushed tones, the noise of the bustling airport in the background giving way to the quieter chatter when Steve boarded the plane. Knowing Steve was in public, listening to him beg and whimper while he fucked himself in their bed had pushed Bucky to the edge in record time, and Steve's quiet growled commands— _'That's it, give me another one. That's my good boy, make that cock nice and wet for your alpha, baby. Come for me, Buck. Come_ now. _Give it to me!'_ —made him shatter apart only a breath before a pleasant voice filtered through the phone and floated into the haze fogging his head, declaring all electronics must be powered down for take-off.  
  
Even now, knowing Steve is in the air, on his way home, Bucky's fingers still itch with the desire to grab the phone from the pillow beside him and call Steve back even though the last one had ended not five minutes before. With his previous orgasm still wet on his skin, he's already eager for more, _needs_ more. Which can only mean...  
  
It's getting worse.  
  
...Whatever _it_ is.  
  
His cock is refilling slowly but surely as he grinds lazily against the mattress, and Jesus, he should stop— _wants to stop_ —but his hips move without direction, chasing the sweet friction and sharp sensation that's just the right side of too much. If he didn't know better, he would think he's in heat… but, no, that's _impossible._ A heat coming two months early? Two days, maybe, a week at the most, and only ever triggered by an alpha's Rut.  
  
Bucky groans, slick sliding over his skin and soaking into the sheets already stained with sweat and come, and _fuck,_ he's made such a mess. It can't be his heat, but _this,_ whatever it is… it’s _something._  
  
It could just be separation anxiety—he's sure as hell got the pre-existing condition to allow that to grab hold of him in such a way. Or it could just be his brain and body noticing the absence of his alpha's touch and craving it. Or maybe… maybe it's _bonding sickness._  
  
The thought makes his heart stutter in his chest. They hadn't talked about bonding at all, Steve only ever claiming him with growled words or nips at tender flesh well away from his neck. But… oh, Bucky _craves_ it, chases that promise of forever like a sunflower chases the sun, arching his neck and offering himself up every time they're together, wanting Steve to sink teeth into his flesh and own his body as much as he does his heart and soul. And more than that, Bucky wants Steve to _want_ to claim him.  
  
He lifts his trembling fingers to his bonding gland. It's warm, of course, always running hotter than anywhere else on his body—a fiery beacon calling out to Steve, guiding him _home.  
_  
His eyelids flutter closed, and a gasp catches in his throat as he digs his nails into his neck, imagining Steve's teeth pressing down into him, breaking the skin, taking what no one else has or ever will.  
  
Bucky ruts against the bed, letting the fantasy sweep him away, reaching out blindly to grab the old navy shirt he knows fills the empty space beside him. He pulls it close, buries his face in the fabric reeking of sweat and storms, and he can almost feel the heavy weight on his back, of Steve trapping him against the bed, strong arms caging him in as the alpha's fat, perfect cock stretches him so wide, driving his hips down into the mattress with each thrust, the slick sounds of flesh on flesh drowned out by his own crying pleas.  
  
Bucky fucks against the bed harder, faster, the sheet soaked with fresh precome rubbing over the head of his cock perfectly like the rasp of a roughened tongue. He bites at Steve's shirt, pulling it into his mouth and sucking at it desperately, turning the fabric wet with spit. It muffles his harsh panting breaths and frantic moans. He's so fucking close already. Steve's stale taste on Bucky's tongue is dirty and wrong but the shame only drives his pleasure higher. His throbbing cock leaks freely now as the fever pitch of his need crests and his mind unspools, lighting up with the phantom sensation of Steve's knot, swollen and full, breaching him, forcing his sloppy hole to swallow it down as sharp teeth slice into his bonding gland.  
  
_“Mine.”  
_  
The echo of Steve's voice in his ear as he claws at his own neck sends him flying, and he's coming hot and wet, hips shuddering as his cock jerks, his ass clenching desperately around nothing, the scream of Steve's name caught by the sodden fabric all but choking him.  
  
The coil of pleasure releases him slowly, and the abused fabric slips from between his teeth as his jaw goes slack. Panting, he sucks sweet oxygen into his burning lungs, waiting for his heart to explode clear through his chest, unable to do anything but ride the electric aftershocks of pleasure volting through his overworked nerves.  
  
But though his heart slows and his breathing steadies, that constant ache doesn't disappear—doesn't even dull—and Bucky can feel the panic narrowing his throat and stirring prickling heat behind his eyes.  
  
_Something is very wrong with him.  
_  
But… Steve will be home soon. He clutches at the thought, brandishing it like a shield, fighting back before it grabs hold of him. _Steve will be home soon._ Steve can fix him—can knot him and kiss him and hold him, and... Jesus, when the hell did he become such a pathetic, needy mess?  
  
He reaches out to pull the pile of Steve's clothes closer, cuddling them tight to his chest. It'll be okay. He's just exhausted and wound up and agitated, making a bigger deal of this than it is. All of this… _stuff_ started happening when Steve left; it only makes sense it'll stop happening when Steve gets home.  
  
Bucky ducks his head down, breathing in the familiar musk, the rapid thumping of his heart starting to steady. Steve will be home soon, and when he is, everything will go back to how it was...everything will be perfect again.  
  


  
  
  


Bucky sags back against the counter, raking his fingers through his hair, collecting the strands hanging over his face and securing them at the back of his head in a messy knot. Rushing around like a headless chicken hasn't done him any favors, his more haste than speed approach had only caused more work for himself and made him a little light-headed. As if he didn't have enough to deal with already.

He takes a slow, steadying breath, trying his best to center himself, but it's a lost cause. He's too frazzled and frustrated, and so fucking horny as hell he can bearly think straight—the only thought clear in his mind is taking Steve's knot, clenching around it, and staying locked together for hours.

Steve will be home soon.

Steve will be home soon.

He holds on to the words like a talisman, keeping them close, repeating them over and over again.

And… shit.

_Steve will be home soon._

Bucky's eyes fly to the clock on the wall.

_Fifteen minutes._

He has fifteen minutes to check off every box on his ridiculously long to-do list before Steve walks through that door and… and there's no way he can get everythng done in time. Panic claws up the inside of his throat, and he casts his eyes around the apartment, scrambling to prioritize the list.

The first failed cake is filling the bin, the dishes are piling high in the sink, and there's a heap of flour on the kitchen floor from when he'd knocked the packet over earlier. The second cake is on the rack cooling, but he won't have time to decorate it—he doesn't even have time to ice the tray of sugar cookies perched on the corner of the bench, and shit, why the fuck did he think he could get all this done in time? He'd stayed in bed too long, given in to selfish desires, and now, he's wrecked their one month anniversary before Steve's even arrived home.

Spitting out a curse, he pushes off the counter abruptly. He spins back as his elbow catches on something hard, just in time to see the cookies go flying off the bench. He grabs for them, his fingers glancing off the edge of the tray, but all that does is alter their trajectory as they drop down onto the carpet, taking Bucky's last crumbs of composure with them.

The flood of emotion that he's barely kept at bay all day—no, _all fucking week—_ draws back before crashing down over him like a tidal wave until he can't breathe, and he's drowning in his miserable failure. He's been waiting all week for this day, hanging on by his fucking fingernails to the promise of their anniversary, wanting to make it perfect. Squeezing his eyes shut against the burning is no use; hot tears spill down his cheeks as a sob rips from his chest.

_He's ruined everything._

He knows it's just food, he's literally having a meltdown over spilled cookies, but he can't deny the utter devastation that cleaves clear through him, carving ragged tracks through his very soul as the world crumbles around him, falling as steadily as his tears.

"Honey, I'm ho—" The familiar greeting dies on Steve's lips, and the next thing Bucky hears is the door slamming closed. Steve is on his knees beside him in a second. "Baby? Hey, what's wrong?"

Bucky just shakes his head frantically, fighting the firm urging of Steve's fingers under his chin, keeping it tucked to his chest.

Steve's voice is low and calm, but he can't hide the sharp edge of worry cutting into the words. "Hey, Buck? Baby? Talk to me, _please_."

Without lifting his gaze, Bucky gestures around the floor helplessly, tears continuing to stream down his cheeks. Another hiccuping sob tears from his throat. "I r-ruined our an-anniversary."

Steve's shaky laugh rides the deep exhale as large thumbs brush the wet trails from Bucky's cheeks. _"That's all?_ That's what you're upset about? Oh, sweetheart. You didn't ruin anything. Hey, look at me."

Hesitantly, Bucky peeks up through his wet lashes, finding those bright blue eyes focused on him like he's the only thing in the world, or the only thing that matters at least, and it's everything he's missed, everything he needs, and Bucky surges forward, locking his arms around Steve's neck, anchoring his hands in the short, soft blond strands and tugs him close, seeking out the comfort of Steve's lips, wanting the familiar taste on his tongue.

He moans into the kiss as Steve meets his desire, licking into his mouth eagerly, and Bucky's own movements become hurried—desperate, sloppy and fumbling. He's not even sure what he's trying to do, just knows he wants _more_. He wants to drown in Steve—to fucking crawl into him and curl up, safe and warm and protected. Fuck being strong and independent, just for today, just for now, he wants to be vulnerable and taken care of.

The firm fingers on his shoulders pushing him back gently only makes his desperation grow, burn hotter, and his fingernails claw against Steve's scalp as those heavenly lips pull away from his.

"Baby, hey. Shh, it's okay."

Bucky clutches at Steve, the frenzy in his body increasing with each breath of distance. _"No, no, please, I need you, please, I need—"_ He strains forward. Steve doesn't understand; he needs this, _needs Steve._ Needs him to chase away the pain and anxiety from the last week, the overpowering emotion that's tearing him up inside. It's been too much, suffocated him in ways he doesn't even understand, and it has to be because Steve left, it has to be, but now he's back, and he can make it all better, Steve can make _him_ better.

“Bucky, _stop_.”

The steel in the command flashes white heat through Bucky's core, turning it molten, and he goes limp in Steve's hold—the hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping him from melting onto the floor. The sensation is overwhelming, twin waves of pleasure and peace washing over him, his breath leaving him in a sigh.

"That's better. Just breathe for me. Tell me what happened."

The order is like a lever being pulled, a dam opening, and the words flood over Bucky's lips without thought. "I ruined everything. You were right, I should have gone with you. This week has just been hell, every day worse than the first, and I know it's stupid to miss you so much—we've only been together a month—but I was a complete mess without you. And today, after… well," Bucky's cheeks heat as his cock jerks at the memory, "I fell asleep, and half the laundry still needs doing, I forgot the powder in the first load and had to rewash it, and then I burned the first cake, didn't get time to decorate the second, and then I bumped the cookies..." He presses his lips together, chin trembling as fresh tears threaten to spill over.

Steve shakes his head slowly, and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Bucky's lips. "Buck, it's okay. You didn't ruin anything. You know I love your cookies, but as incredible as they are, they're not what I've been dreaming about all week. The only thing I want to devour on our anniversary is _you._ ”

Bucky sniffs and swipes the tears from his face with the back of his hand. "Really?"

"Mhm." Steve draws a cross over his heart with an index finger before he cups Bucky's jaw gently. "But if you're not in the mood, I'd never say no to a night of just holding you. Whatever you want, baby. I just need you to stop crying, okay?"

"Whatever I want?" The crushing disappointment shifts, his body shifting gears as quickly as if Steve had pressed a button inside him.

Steve's chuckle is brimming with knowing amusment, always able to read Bucky like an open book. "Sounds like you have something in mind."

In all honesty, Bucky had thought of nothing beyond burying himself in Steve's arms and on his cock, but that was _before_.… before Steve's control had both soothed him and turned him into a quivering, leaking mess. He's never done this before, though. Steve could say no…

Barbs of apprehension needle at his overwrought brain and Bucky scrambles backward before they stab deeper and take hold. He spins quickly, turning his back to Steve before lifting his hips as high as he's able from his position on all fours, then drops his shoulders low, pressing his cheek into the carpet… _presenting_.

Bucky's body is a wire pulled tautly, his every muscle tensed, waiting. They've never done this since _that night_ , never even talked about it, and uncertainty twinges in his gut. What if he's not doing it correctly? What if Steve doesn't like it? Sweat dampens his hairline. He should have waited. Steve's barely in the door, and Bucky's dropping to his knees like some cheap, back alley omega. But the same deep need of a heat is rolling through him, only somehow worse, an itch he can't scratch, and he wants to give Steve his submission, wants Steve to accept it. He doesn't know why; he just does.

"Buck?" Steve's low rumble is thunder in Bucky's blood as the pressure in the room drops, shifting like a building storm. "You know you never have to submit for me, ever. I know you don't—"

The carpet's pile is coarse on Bucky's soft cheek as he scrubs his face against it, trying to shake his head under the confines of his position. "No, I know, I just… I feel—I don’t know, I _need_ it. Please."

Steve's low exhale barely registers over the sound of the rapid pounding in his ears, and he startles when large hands cup his ass, kneading his cheeks through the thin sweats.

"Yeah? You want to submit for me? My precious omega wants to be sweet for me?"

Bucky doesn't even try and fight the pitiful whimper. "Yes, Stevie. Please, _Alpha_.”

The hands on his ass tighten, quick and sharp, reflexively maybe, and Steve growls again as he moves one down slowly—agonizingly slowly—riding the curve of his ass until it finds the bulky center seam right above his hole and presses, and _oh_. Bucky ruts back against the touch, spreading his thighs, chasing the tease—the promise—of Steve inside him... any part of him.

"You're so fucking wet, Buck. Jesus. Can you feel it? Feel how much you've soaked these damn pants?"

“Touch me, please, Alpha, _please_.”

"This all for me, sweet thing? Your little hole crying for Alpha's cock?"

Bucky mewls into the carpet, the blunt lines of his nails catching in the short fibers as he tries to curl his fingers into it, attempting to anchor himself. But then those large hands are slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, sweeping them down over his ass, pushing the fabric out of the way until it's bunched at his knees, and Bucky's tether snaps.

"Oh, fuck. Would you look at that? Sweetest thing I've ever seen. You gonna let me have a taste?

Bucky can only manage a soft whimper.

"Is that a yes, baby?"

Bucky bites down on his lip painfully, half expecting the taste of metal to greet his tongue. Steve has made no secret of his desire to spend more time _there_ , drifting low during blowjobs, but still, after a few swipes of an eager tongue, Bucky is tugging on his hair, urging him back up, the embarrassment of Steve's mouth at his ass overriding the pleasure of it. But now... Now, Bucky would take a tongue or a finger or a fucking fist—anything as long as it's _Steve_.

"Yes," he hisses.

Steve's groan is gut-deep. _"Fuck._ Yeah, that's my good boy, of course, you are."

Fingertips are pressing deep into the meat of his asscheeks, prying them apart and then—

The high-pitched whine erupts from Bucky's throat as Steve's tongue swipes over his hole. He clenches involuntarily, ecstasy racing through his nerves. _“Nghh—”_

"Oh, Buck, baby. You are the sweetest fuckin' thing I've tasted in my entire life," Steve hums against his ass, the hot breath carrying the words settling over the wet path his tongue has just painted over the quivering rim. He licks another slow stripe like he's licking a fucking ice cream cone, and Bucky's whole body turns feverish. "S'it feel nice, sugar? You gonna let Alpha take care of you like this from now on? Let me make your little hole feel good?"

_" Yea—yes, Alpha."_

"That's my good boy," Steve growls before putting his mouth to use, dragging his tongue over Bucky's rim, sliding it over his cheeks and thighs. Bucky shoves his forehead hard into the floor, grinding it against the carpet, praying his shaking legs hold out for just a little while longer.

Steve's hands are spreading him wide, cool air kissing the trail of warm lips. "You going to give me some more sugar? Gonna be sweet for me, Buck?" Steve murmurs, running his thumb over the puckered ring, feather-light touches that make Bucky dizzy. "Give me a little more, baby. I wanna see it leaking out of you."

Steve's words are gasoline in Bucky's veins, burning his shame to ash, scorching away everything but the raw, bright _feeling_ of Steve's love and devotion and desire, and he gasps as fresh slick slides out of him at the gentle command.

"Shit, look at that. A little sweet talk and you're dripping for me." The smooth slide of Steve's tongue laps up the fresh mess. "I could make a meal out of you," he hums. "In fact…"

More cool air rushes to fill the space Steve's face had been only moments before, and Bucky twists back, craning his neck to see Steve rising to his feet. His mind feels a little foggy, and he watches as Steve toes off his shoes and shucks his shirt before understanding dawns, and he crawls to Steve, sweats still bunched around his knees, and paws at the zipper of the jeans as Steve works open his belt.

"Oh, look at you, eager boy." Steve runs a hand through Bucky's hair. "You missed this, didn't you? Been waiting all week for your alpha's cock, hmm?"

Bucky doesn't bother to nod, just whines, high and needy. There's no point denying it; they both know he craves Steve's cock, gets drunk on it—can barely go a day without it stuffed in one of his holes, both know the week has been _torture_ , and both know Steve's going to give him everything he needs.

Bucky bests the zip and frees Steve's cock from the straining denim before shoving the jeans down as far as they'll stretch over slightly spread thighs. He wraps his hands around the thick shaft, but Steve traps his hands in his own and lifts them away.

"No hands, baby. I want you to sit on them for me and open your mouth."

Bucky hurries to comply, slotting his hands under his thighs, opening his mouth wide and jutting out his tongue, looking up at Steve with hungry, pleading eyes. Steve takes himself in hand; he's fully hard, the fat, mushroom head flushed pink and wet, and Steve holds it, a whisper away from Bucky's lips and strokes it lazily, chuckling as spit drips from the corner of Bucky's lips.

"You look so pretty on your knees. I think you should stay there and show me exactly how much you missed your alpha."

Bucky's moan reverberates in his throat. He wants so much to strain forward, to taste the precome glistening in the light, but moreover, he wants to be good, wants to do as Alpha says, sit and wait—to be a good boy. And Steve can see it, he knows, can see the urge just to take, can see what it's costing him to be good.

Steve doesn't make him wait.

He guides the head to Bucky's lips, and he sucks it into his mouth eagerly, moaning as the familiar taste of Steve's desire coats his tongue. The contented sigh leaves his chest as he bobs forward, taking as much of the thick shaft into his mouth as he can, feeling it brush against the back of his throat, but then pinpricks of pain are biting at his scalp, Steve's large hand curling in his hair and tugging him back.

"No, sweet boy, don't be greedy. I just want you to suck the head nice and hard for me. That's it, just like that." Steve pets Bucky's head, trailing his fingers in the long locks, blunt nails raking over his scalp. "Oh, fuck, yeah. Clean that messy hole, that's my good boy."

Bucky locks his lips around the drooling head, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks hard, delighting in the sounds of pleasure rumbling from Steve's chest as one hand continues to stroke through his hair as the other reaches down to massage the swollen knot. He knows exactly how Steve likes it, knows he loves Bucky's tongue trying to drill down into his sensitive cockhole, coaxing up streams of precome that coat his mouth and run down his throat. Bucky's eyelids flutter closed, and he loses himself in the sweet praises and taste that's uniquely _Steve_.

"God, I missed your mouth. So fuckin' perfect, so sweet. But we gotta stop, baby," Steve groans much too soon as he tugs at Bucky's hair again, pulling him away completely, chuckling at the frustrated whine. "I know. But you've gotta stop now, or I'm going to spill down your throat and fill your tummy."

"Sounds good to me," Bucky grins up at him, licking his lips.

"Mhm, I bet it does. Always hungry for my come, aren't you? But I want to feed your other greedy little hole today."

Bucky's moan is still sliding from his throat when Steve lifts him into the air, crushing him against that familiar, broad chest, and carries him toward the bedroom. He locks his arms around Steve's neck and closes his eyes, reveling in the blissful warmth that spreads through him at being back precisely where he belongs.  
  
Large hands paw at him, scraping and tugging at his clothes, but there's a strange disconnect—the signals taking too long to work through his foggy brain. He gives up trying to decipher the sensations, opting instead to let Steve move his limbs while he sucks at the musky scent gland hiding under the sweat-slicked skin.

It's only when the hard heat of Steve's body slides away, and Bucky's naked back touches soft, cool sheets that he opens his eyes. He's in the bedroom, of course, naked, and his fuzzy brain has enough sense to be grateful he'd manage to change the sheets at least, but he frowns at Steve's retreating back. He scrambles onto his knees.

"Steve?"

There's no answer, but Steve appears at the doorway a moment later, pausing to let his eyes devour Bucky. "God, you're beautiful." A slow-blooming smile full of wicked thoughts and insatiable hunger curves his lips. "You should never bother with clothes at home ever again. Just walk around like this, bare and beautiful, what d'you think? I'd be able to see every time that pretty cock needed my attention, baby."

Bucky's breath hitches as the words stir vivid images in his head, his ass quivering and leaking. He squirms on the spot. "Uhh, I think we'd have to put plastic over all the furniture, or I'd make a hell of a mess."

Steve stalks toward the bed, gloriously naked, a bath sheet hanging from his left hand. "Oh, we can't have that, sweetheart. I guess you'll just have to sit on my lap and make a mess of me instead."

The coiling in Bucky's gut twists tighter, and Jesus, he may actually come before Steve touches him if he keeps this up. Fucking tease. _“Steve,”_ Bucky whines. "Please. I've been waiting all week for you, can't wait anymore."

The only response is a deep chuckle as Steve folds the towel in half and fans it out over the head of the mattress. "Now there's my impatient omega I know and love. I just needed to get ready."

Bucky eyes the towel suspiciously. "Ready for what?"

Steve just grins and settles himself on the mattress, lying on his back, head over the towel. He motions to Bucky. "C'mon, baby. Up you come."

And, fuck, Bucky doesn't need to be told twice. Eagerness makes his movements clumsy as he scrambles to straddle Steve's thighs, eyes locking on the magnificent cock standing proudly, beckoning to Bucky. He licks his lips hungrily. He's torn between sucking it and fucking it.

As if Steve can read Bucky's mind, large fingers ruffle his hair. "No, sweetheart, not there, up here."

Bucky drags his gaze away from the temptation in front of him to finds Steve's hooded eyes. He furrows his brows in confusion.

"You're going to ride my face."

 _Ride..._ Heat sweeps into Bucky's cheeks, turning the pink flush of arousal into burning embarrassment. They’ve never.. _No one’s ever…_ He can’t. He shakes his head.

"What's the matter, baby? I thought you liked me eating your pretty ass?"

A tremor skids through Bucky, as much in response to the words as the tone. Breath lodged in his throat, he pulls his lip between his teeth and nods jerkily, because, yeah, fuck it feels _good_... and Steve knows it. Just the memory of Steve's tongue swiping over his hole not thirty minutes before has it leaking messily over Steve's thighs. But a few light licks before being filled with fingers or cock is one thing; Steve eating his ass out while he sits on his face is another thing entirely.

"Don't go shy on me now, kitten. It feels good, doesn't it? You love it when I kiss your pretty hole, don't you?"

"Y-yeah," Bucky breathes. "But, I—umm…" He shakes his head slowly. Oh, god. He can't sit on Steve's face. He’ll make him all _wet_.

"I thought you wanted to submit for me," Steve sighs, and the disapproval, mock though it may be, rips through Bucky.

He wants to submit, to be good, and he wants to feel Steve's tongue _there_ as much as Steve seems eager to put it there, but… he isn't sure he can get out of his own head long enough to give them what they both want. The floaty feeling from earlier has drifted away, chased off by heavy thoughts.

#

"You're not being a bad boy and disobeying your alpha, are you? You're not too big to be pulled over Daddy's lap for a good spankin', Buck," Steve chuckles.

The moan slides from Bucky's throat without preamble or warning as the words pulse through him like an electrical current, his whole body jerking atop of thick thighs.

The husky laugh dies on Steve's lips. Bright blue eyes narrow. "Buck?"

"I, uh, sorry," Bucky mumbles. The burn in his cheeks spreads down his neck like wildfire, rushing to bite at his chest, and he crushes his lower lip between his teeth.

"Aint nothin' to be sorry about," Steve's voice is low, breathless. "You like that idea? You want me to put you over my lap and mark up that ass of yours, all nice and pretty? Make it as red as your other cheeks?"

Bucky bites down harder on his lip, wincing at the stinging pain. He lowers his gaze from those blue eyes searching his face, staring fixedly at Steve's navel. He shrugs a shoulder carefully. He does like the idea, but then he likes any idea that ends with him in Steve's lap, with those clever hands on any part of him. ...but _that_ isn’t what had made him jolt. He tucks his head to his chest, scrunching his face up.

"Bucky?" Steve prompts quietly, but Bucky can't meet his gaze.

Oh, god. _Oh… god._

_What the fuck is wrong with him?_

His breathing quickens, his gut twisting sourly. First, he's all needy, desperate to submit, his omega instincts flaring up like a supernova inside of him, and now… _this_. True, they're no stranger to playing games—he'd never been with anyone he trusted enough to explore that side of him—the side he never knew existed—until Steve. And Steve has never once made him feel embarrassed or weird, always happy to try new things, to indulge Bucky's fantasies and, on occasion, asked Bucky to indulge his, but this… this is _different._

"Bucky? It's okay if you don't. I just thought that's what made you..." Steve trails off before silence rings loud as church bells in Bucky's ears. _"Oh."_

It's the quiet but weighted expulsion of Steve's lungs emptying in that one word that finally forces Bucky's eyes back up.

"Unless... Is it… Is it _Daddy?”_

Bucky's every single nerve sparks like he's been struck by lightning, and he closes his fist around his cock, strangling it, trying desperately to claw himself back from the edge as it jerks and throbs and spills his secrets all over his skin.

 _"Jesus, Buck,"_ Steve breathes, eyes darkening as they trace the lazy paths of clear fluid as it rolls down Bucky's cock.

"Uh, it's not—I don't—I'm sorry!" Bucky's heart is thumping too rapidly, too loudly, drowning out every thought save the one screaming at him to climb off of Steve and run from the room. As if reading his mind, or maybe just the panic in his wild eyes, Steve pitches forward, pulling himself to a sitting position in one smooth motion before wrapping his hands around Bucky's waist, locking him firmly in place.

"Hey, hey, look at me. Bucky, look at me. It's alright."

Bucky shakes his head frantically, squirming against the hold, but the truth of Steve's words shine out from his eyes. The shame coiling tight in his belly loosens when he finds no trace of judgment or disgust

"I love you. You know that, right? You're the most amazing person I've ever met, all any alpha could ever ask for, and so much more than this alpha deserves. I don't know how I got so lucky to find you, I really don't, but each and every night, I thank each and every star above that I did, that I get to call you _mine."_

He cups Bucky's face gently and claims his lips, and Bucky loses himself to the feel and taste of Steve on his tongue, feeding his alpha his moans of pleasure as it spikes, eclipsing the panic, thrilling as Steve swallows them down and coaxes out more, nibbling at his lip, sucking on his tongue. They're panting by the time Steve breaks the kiss, and Bucky can't help the small whine of disappointment that slips from his throat.

"There he is," Steve murmurs with a smile. His hands run up and down Bucky's arms soothingly. "It's okay, sweetheart. Everything's okay. You're allowed to like that. You just need me to take care of you today, hm?"

"I—" Bucky breaks off. He nods shyly, cheeks still blazing. Oh, god, he does. He just wants Steve to wrap him in those strong arms and make him feel small and safe and delicate and cherished in a way he can't put into words. Wants to submit and be good, so good for Steve. He wants not to have to think, just feel, wants to give himself over to his alpha, to his…

To Steve.

"We can do that, sugar. Of course, we can. Anything for you, Buck. _Anything._ " The large hands reach up to cup Bucky's jaw so achingly tender, almost reverently, and he shivers as Steve's thick thumb brushes over his bottom lip. "I know you want to submit for me, baby, and I love that, I _really_ do. But if at any time it doesn't feel good, and you want to stop, you just say the word and we will, alright?"

"Y-yes."

"That's my boy." The sweetness in Steve's voice is gone, a sharp edge in its place, cutting through the last fraying strings of Bucky's resistance. "You gonna be good for me?"

Bucky nods furiously, too quick, too eager, but the words make his body sing, and Steve hasn't laid a finger on him yet. _“So good, Alpha.”_.

"O'course you will, you're always such a good boy, always make your alpha feel good," Steve praises, making Bucky tremble with pride. "And you know what makes me feel good?"

Bucky shakes his head slowly, body thrumming with anticipation.

"The thought of burying my face between your gorgeous cheeks and drinking down all that sugar syrup flowing from your pretty hole."

 _"S-Steve,"_ Bucky gasps, squirming.

"I never told you this, but fuck, I've been dreaming about it since the first day you came into the clinic. Seeing you spread open and leaking, so fucking gorgeous. It was such a waste, watching you drip onto the mat. I wanted to taste you right then and there, drop to my knees, lick you clean and drink from you like a fountain."

"Oh, god. Oh, Fuck!” Heat pulses through Bucky's core in time with his heartbeat until he's shivering with it, slumping forward and scraping his nails against Steve's hard chest, trying to stop himself from shattering apart and coming all over himself on Steve's thighs.

##

"You'll let me do that, yeah? You wanna feed Daddy your sweet slick, don't you, baby?"

 _"Hnng—"_ Rolling static buzzes through Bucky's skin and slick rushes from his body, streaming from his ass. He doesn't know what it is, why the word, _that word_ sets his body alight like a forest fire, burning away the oxygen from his lungs until they're constricted in his chest, making his head, his _whole body_ dizzy with _want._ It makes him feel shy and yielding and _owned_ in the very best way. Just… makes him _feel_

Catching his lip between his teeth again, not trusting his voice, Bucky just nods slowly, whimpering as Steve growls.

"Mmm, that's my perfect, sweet boy."

Bucky whimpers at the praise, reaching down to wrap his hand around his aching, neglected cock again, but Steve's hand comes to shadow his, gently prying it free. "None of that, sweet thing. You're going to ride my face and come from my tongue in your wet little hole, and that's it, understand?"

Oh, god. Bucky is going to die. He's going to spontaneously combust from Steve's tongue—and it isn't even in his ass yet. "Y-yes, Alpha."

"And you don't come before I say you can. This is important. You tell me when you're getting close, alright?"

Bucky can feel his whole body trembling now, the anticipation spiking inside him too intense to contain. This is new. Steve has never tried to control his orgasms before—in fact, he actively tries to wring as many from his body as possible. The idea of not being able to come until Steve tells him he can sends a delicious shiver rolling down his spine as he nods.

"Good boy." Steve lowers himself back onto the bed. "Okay, sweet thing, turn around for me, yeah, just like that, perfect. Now come give Daddy his special sugar."

Bucky's whole body is on fire, the hazy awareness that he must look like he's got a bad sunburn drifting unhelpfully through his mind as he shuffles backward, albeit clumsily, to do as he's told and position himself over Steve's face.

There's a hungry groan a split second before Steve's large hands are clamping around Bucky's waist and manhandling him, shifting him where he wants.

Bucky falls forward, and his hands fly out to steady himself, fingers curling over Steve's abs, trying to dig into the unyielding muscles as Steve's hands spread his trembling thighs further apart.

"Damn, I wish you could see yourself, so wet for me. You're open for me already, ready for Daddy's tongue."

"Ahh, fuck, please, D _—Steve,"_ Bucky can't say it, not yet, not out loud. But Steve calling himself… _that_ is winding the molten heat in his belly tighter, _tighter,_ and he's not sure he won't shatter apart the minute Steve's tongue swipes over him, permission or no. Actually, he won't even need the tongue if Steve doesn't stop talking. Two or three more of those words and he's going to lose his mind and then his load.

The thought spurs him into action, making him push back, lowering his ass to Steve's lips to give them something else to do, moaning when Steve's husky laugh ghosts over his sensitive skin.

"Such an impatient little omega, aren't you? Is your hole all achy and sore? Need your alpha to kiss it better? Need Daddy to make it feel good?"

"Oh, shit, Steve, just—god—Please, please, please," Bucky begs, digging his nails into Steve's skin hard, focusing on the red marks glaring up at him, steadying himself and trying desperately to keep his hands off his cock.

Steve groans approvingly, always loving it when Bucky begs, and _oh._.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, lost in the incredible feeling of Steve's tongue dragging over his ass. The motions are slow, lazy, as if he's got all the fucking time in the world, and Bucky grinds down impatiently, wanting _more._ He can feel Steve's lips curve up, and he yelps as teeth scrape over his rim. Message received loud and clear, Bucky fights to keep his hips still, whining instead.

Steve's lips move in a familiar pattern, pressing sloppy, open-mouth kisses to the ring, kissing his ass as if it were his mouth, relentless tongue licking, lapping, sliding around as if collecting the slick from his skin. Bucky's squirms as Steve's tongue pushes inside his body with a growl, fucking the puckered ring in and out, working it open, burrowing deeper each time.

The bite of Steve's beard rubbing against him is the good side of bad, and Bucky knows he's going to be sore later, marked up, rough and red, marked as _Steve's_. The soft hair chafes at him perfectly, the texture and sensation shifting the wetter it gets... and it's getting really fucking wet. He drops forward onto his elbows, covering his face with his hands.

The knowledge that Steve isn't just licking him, isn't just tasting him, but is drinking him down like a man dying of thirst in a desert pulls a broken cry from his chest. Then, Steve's lips are moving again, locking around his rim, forming a seal, and _oh fuck._ he's _sucking,_ no longer collecting the liquid as it rushes from Bucky's body, but drawing it out, _demanding it_ , the obscene sounds of Steve slurping up his slick jolting him too rapidly to his peak.

"I, oh, fuck, Steve, _Steveeee!_ I need to—I'm gonna, oh, shit, I'm gonna come, please, _please._ "

Steve's lips lift with a sloppy sound. "Not yet, sugar. I think you can hold on a little longer for me, can't you?"

Bucky twists around, straining to try and see Steve's face, but it's hidden beneath him and Jesus, that's not helping. "Nuh-uh. _Can't._ Can't hold on, need to come." He tenses every muscle, trying desperately to hold back the wave of pleasure cresting inside him. "I'm so close, Steve, please. I need—I need—"

Steve hums thoughtfully, one large hand coming to grip Bucky's cock painfully tight around the base. Bucky moans and rocks forward as the blood trapped under Steve's hand turns hot and insistent and pulls his focus. But then a thick finger is sliding into his ass, pushing deep, curving away from his prostate, reaching… searching... until it presses into something soft and—

Bucky keens, his arms go boneless, and he falls forward completely, his face slapping onto Steve's thigh. He sucks the musky scent there into his lungs in harsh breaths as Steve's finger continues to massage something inside him that has him seeing stars.

"This is a slick gland, baby."

Steve's fingers rub firm circles inside him, and all he can do is lay there, panting, mewling soft, desperate sounds into Steve's skin. He's leaking continuously under the attention, the gland burning hot like pins and needles as Steve plays with it, making him writhe and twitch, hot tears leaking from the corner of his scrunched up eyes. It's incredible, and Bucky wants to live the rest of his life right here, his leaking cock grinding against Steve's chest, a fat finger buried in his ass setting his nerves on fire, and Steve's cock drooling against his neck.

But then, Steve's finger stops moving. "You still with me, baby?"

"Yeah—yes, don't stop!"

"You have two glands. One here and—" Steve moves his finger, dragging it over Bucky's inner walls before he presses down and makes Bucky jerk again, "—another one here. I need you to bear down for me like you're trying to push my fingers out… that's it, good boy. Hold that and clench nice and tight for me."

It takes Bucky three attempts, his overstimulated brain struggling to follow the dual command. It's like patting his head and rubbing his belly at the same time, but finally, he manages it and is rewarded with Steve's tongue sliding over him, lapping up the new slick creaming up his skin.

"That's it, so fucking perfect, baby. You're doing so well for me," Steve hums between drags of his tongue. "You can come whenever you need to, Buck, but when you do, you're going to bear down for me and squeeze nice and tight just like that and hold it, understand?"

Bucky nods before realizing Steve can't see him and rasps out a hoarse, "Yes. But...why?"

Steve slides his finger free slowly. "Because you're going to squirt for me."

Bucky's core convulses, spasming tight, his cock making a mess on Steve's chest. His heart roars in his ears, beating so rapidly it's all but a solid sound. _Squirting?_ Steve wants him to… Bucky's mind goes soft.

Steve's hand releases Bucky's cock and closes around his balls tightly instead, stretching the heavy sack as the other hand rubs small circles across his lower back. "You still with me?"

"I—uh, I've never...I can't—"

"Yes, you can. Your body wants to squirt for me, sweetheart. You can feel it, can't you? Feel it so full and straining? It wants to empty, and I want to feel you gush all over my face. Need to feel your sugar rushing down my throat and into my belly, coating my lips, and splashing all over me. I wanna be covered in your scent, Buck. You gonna be a good boy and do as Daddy asks?"

 _"Nnggghh—"_ Bucky just tilts his hips back, submitting in action instead of words. His balls are aching, tight in Steve's hold as he latches back on to the leaking hole and starts sucking hungrily, appreciative noises rumbling from his chest.

The ecstasy builds and builds, notching higher until his entire body feels like it's going to shatter apart, the molten heat in his gut shooting sparks along his raw nerves. He's twitching, leaking, crying silently as too much sensation assaults his body. Rivulets of sweat slip over his skin, pooling in the dip of his lower back and trickling down his neck. He shifts, curving and turning to nuzzle at the musky patch of hair at Steve's groin even as he shoves a fist into his mouth and bites hard.

Fuck, he needs to come.

Bearing down, clenching tight as Steve ordered, Bucky can feel the rumbling vibrations of the approving hum trembling up into him, pushing him higher. He's so fucking close, can feel the burn of pleasure at the tipping point. He grinds down, trying to draw Steve's tongue deeper into his body or get some friction on his trapped cock—anything to tip over the edge.

Shuddering with tension, Bucky presses down harder, keeping everything coiled and tight...and, _fuck._

Panic starts to eat around the edges of pleasure, dragging him away from the peak. He can't do it. He can't do as Steve asked, can't give him what he needs, he's going to disappoint his alpha, he's not going to be able to squirt for.. for… _Daddy._

The thought loosens the fist in his gut, and something inside him breaks.

The twin glands pulse in time with his jerking cock as he comes, sending jetting streams of liquid spilling from his ass as his cock empties against Steve's belly.

"Ahh, ahh! _Steve! Oh, oh! fuck! Fuck, fuuuuck!"_

Bucky's world splinters into a kaleidoscope of ecstasy as his orgasm rages through him, seemingly without end. Dazzling colors bleed through the back of his eyelids before everything turns black.

It's the rhythmic stroking of gentle fingers carding through his hair that tempts Bucky up from the darkness.

"There you are. You back with me? You feelin' good?"

"Mmm. Really fucking good." Bucky's body is heavy, but he pulls against the post-orgasmic exhaustion beckoning him. Though his cock is spent, the aching emptiness in his ass—his constant companion for the past week without Steve—remains.  
  
He drags his eyes open to find himself stretched out on a hard chest, looking up to find Steve's slick-drenched face. It's possibly the most erotic thing Bucky has ever seen, but the knowledge that he did that… all over Steve… his cheeks go up in flames.

"Hey, no," Steve admonishes, catching his chin and holding it up firmly when he tries to duck away. "None of that. I can see that brain of yours working. Don't go getting embarrassed now."

"I just...I made you all wet."

"Yeah, you did," Steve husks out. "Thank you, baby. Thank you for giving me that. That was incredible. _You_ are incredible.”

Bucky battles to keep his gaze on Steve. "You really liked it?"

Steve trails two fingers over Bucky's neck, and when they lift again, they're covered in white. "You squirting for me _—on me_ —made me come without a hand to my cock. I _loved_ it. Did it make you feel good?"

Bucky nods shyly. "Yeah, it was amazing. Felt like coming twice... but at the same time... kind of? I don't know. It was… intense." He licks his lips before grabbing for Steve's hand, then guiding it to his mouth, sucking the milky fluid from the digits, his lips curving up around them at Steve's hungry groan.

"Jesus, how are you so fucking perfect?" Steve crooks his fingers, rubbing them over Bucky's tongue. "Maybe we should make you squirt all the time now, hmm? What I wouldn't give to see you gushing all over my cock, sweet thing."

Bucky pulls the fingers from his mouth with a lewd slurping noise. "Maybe we should try it now," he says quickly.

"Maybe tomorrow. We've already put your poor ass through a lot. If you lose any more fluid, I'm going to have to hook you up to an I.V." Steve laughs. "Again."

Bucky shakes his head. "No, I'm okay. I can go again."

Steve cups Bucky's jaw gently, thumb dancing over the hinge. "I don't want to hurt you. How about we take a nice long shower and I'll order us some food. You're probably starving, I bet you haven't eaten today."

With a huff, Bucky lifts on his elbows, fixing Steve in an unwavering stare. "I don't want food, I want _you._ Please let me make you feel good, Stevie."

"You already have, baby."

"No, not like that. I want you inside me. Steve, _Alpha_ … please…I need…" Bucky gnaws on his bottom lip as uncertainty steals away with his confidence. Now the mood has shifted, he's not sure how Steve will react to the continuation of that… whatever that was, but the floaty feeling of his orgasm is already wearing off, and the sharp edges of desperate need are starting to scratch at him again. He ducks his head, looking up through his lashes—easier to hide away if this goes wrong. He takes a deep breath and holds it. "I was good, wasn't I? Squirting for you?

Steve's eyes narrow, his chest freezing mid-breath. "Yeah," he draws out slowly. "Of course you were. You're always good for me, Buck."

"And good boys get their… their D-Daddy's knot, don't they?"

Steve growls. "Oh, fuck, you _are_ in some kind of mood today, aren't you?"

Bucky swallows thickly, Steve's desire so palpable he feels like he's choking on it. He pushes a slow breath from his body, letting it take all his fears and insecurities and self-recrimination out with it, and gives himself over to the feeling of Steve loving him, nurturing him— _accepting him._

"Y-you said I could have whatever I want. I want you to... to do what you did _that_ night."

The thumb sweeping over his cheek stills, Steve's whole body going rigid. "Buck…"

"Please, Alpha, I want you to."

"I—" Steve licks his lips, eyes darkening until ink-black _want_ is eclipsing every fleck of blue, but still, he shakes his head. "I can't. I'll hurt you."

"No, you won't. I can take it, I _want_ it. I'll tell you if it hurts, I swear, and then we'll stop. Please?"

"Buck…" Steve groans, voice strained to breaking point.

Bucky can see the tiny pinpricks of hope shining through Steve's shredding resolve and pushes to a sitting position low on Steve's belly. He grinds his ass down against the still hard cock. "I want you to fuck me with your knot. Please, _Daddy,_ ” he asks sugar-sweet, and he swears he can _see_ Steve's control shatter completely.

"Oh, you're my greedy boy, aren't you?" Steve growls. "Need Daddy to take care of you again? Just came all over my face now you wanna come on my cock?"

Bucky whimpers as Steve's fingers trail around his rim, sliding in easily without warning or question, just taking it as if he owns it, and fuck, he does. "Please."

"Please what, baby?" Steve hums, his fingers stilling against Bucky's hole.

"Please, Daddy." The word rides over his lips in a moan. Every time he says it, hears it, thinks it, it lights up a deep dark part of his brain, soothing the dull ache that's been chafing at him all week, his skin pebbling up. He trembles again, his ass clenching down around Steve's… around _Daddy's_ fingers as they move and spread inside him, and with a breathy sigh, he gives himself over to the feeling.

"Mmm, that's my best boy. Such lovely manners, baby."

A hand sweeps through Bucky's hair so tenderly he lets his eyes drift closed... only to snap open again to find the room blurring as Steve picks him up and positions him on the mattress in the same position he'd presented to Steve earlier. His cheek presses hard against the towel draped over the bed, his own slick smearing across his face.

But the scent of himself only makes him burn hotter as Steve claims him in one long slide, pushing in and in and in, carving out space, taking what he wants. Steve's cock has never felt so big, and Bucky can't stop the strangled cry as it nudges against his prostate.

"Oh, fuck," Steve grinds the word between his teeth, circling his hips slow and deep, the rise of his knot straining against Bucky's stretched hole. "Made for me, Buck," he whispers reverently. "Made to take me, just me."

"Yes, you, just you. 'M yours, just yours," Bucky babbles, pushing back, trying to urge him deeper. "More, please."

"What do you need, hm? Say it, sweet thing, let me hear you."

"Need your knot," Bucky whines. "Want you to fuck me with your knot."

"You tell me if it gets too much or hurts, and you want me to stop, understand?"

Bucky nods quickly, taking the seriousness of Steve's tone to heart, but not wanting his prize to be stolen from him because he didn't seem sure. "Yes, I promise."

Steve pushes in slowly, Bucky gasping wetly as his hole inches wider, struggling to make room enough for Steve.  
  
The stretch is _incredible_.

"Yeah, that's it, good boy. Open up for me, let Daddy in, baby."

Steve had told him what they'd done that night, how he'd fucked his knot into Bucky's sleeping body over and over, and Bucky had imagined it more times than he could count, but his dozens of fantasies hadn't even come close to the fireworks exploding in his nerves.

"Almost there, Buck, such a good boy for me, so fucking tight, _God_ ," Steve pants, fingers digging tight into Bucky's ass and spreading him wide.

Bucky keens, twisting his fingers in the sheets, scrubbing his face over the rough towel, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He's full, so fucking full, the burn of his ass only subsiding when Steve is buried knot-deep, and his ass swallows up the bulging intrusion, clenching down tight on the other side.

A large hand rubs up and down his spine as Bucky whimpers.

"Oh, fuck, baby, you did it. You took it all. You alright?"

Bucky bites at the towel rubbing over his lips, the taste of his own slick coating his tongue. Normally at this point, he'd be lost in the pleasure singing through his veins as his orgasm barrelled through his body, the agonizing stretch dulled by the nebulous, rolling cloud of orgasmic bliss... but right now, there's nothing to soothe the sharp painful pleasure, and he's torn between trying to scramble away and rocking back and begging for _more_

He does neither, just scrubs his head up and down frantically, groaning and sucking his own release from the sodden towel.

"Good boy, such a good boy for me, giving me this. So sweet for me," Steve coos.

Bucky wails around the towel as Steve starts to pull out.

"You had yours, now it's Daddy's turn, yeah? Need your tight hole to milk Daddy's knot."

Instinctively, Bucky clenches, fighting to keep Steve locked inside. He can feel his rim distending outward, chasing the retreating knot. He ruts backwarda but firm hands press down on his ass, pushing him forward as Steve pulls free with a punched-out groan.

"Ooh, Buck, baby, fuck, I forgot. Oh, sweet boy. Daddy forgot how good your little hole feels fucking his knot."

Bucky keens, fighting to rock back, feeling achingly empty even though being stuffed full of cock. "I need, oh, shit, no, I need—"tear

"Is it hurting? Do you need me to stop?"

"No, no, no, please don't stop...s'good," Bucky slurs, utterly cock-drunk. "Need it. Please, so good. Hurts so good, Daddy. Feel so empty without your knot inside me."

"Jesus, Buck. You're gonna make me come."

"Yesss," Bucky hisses. "Want it, want you to fill my belly."

"That's what my greedy boy needs? Your little hole hungry baby? Not wet enough?" Steve starts moving, fucking with purpose, hips driving forward, forcing his swollen knot back inside Bucky's ass only to steal it away again and again. "Yeah, you need.... oh, shit... need Daddy to make a mess inside you."

The constant dance of stretch and clench pushes heaving sobs from Bucky's chest and a stream of babbling pleas from his lips.  
  
"C'mon, baby, tell me how much you love it. Daddy needs to hear you."

Bucky's cock is full again, hanging heavy between his legs, leaking onto the sheets as Steve abuses his hole so perfectly. He's so close, and all he can think about is finding it again, that pleasure, needing it. Needing Steve to get him there. "S'good, Daddy. So fucking good. I love it, love it, love you, please, don't stop. Need it so bad!" Bucky's wail fills the room, and he spreads his thighs wider, trying to rut back and take Steve even deeper into his belly. He's never felt so wildly out of control, a constant state of overwhelming overstimulation, his entire being bursting bright in rapturous pleasure.

"Yeah, take it, baby, take my knot. Ahh, shit, Buck, I'm not gonna last," Steve gasps, thrusts becoming jerky, uncoordinated. "You're gonna make me come, I can't—oh, _fuck!_ "

Bucky jolts forward on the bed as Steve thrusts into him one final time, knotting him as he comes, the swollen base throbbing inside his ass as the thick cock jerks inside him, spilling hot and wet. Steve bows over him, flinging an arm out onto the bed to take most of his weight, the rest pressing down on Bucky's back as he grinds roughly, filthy curses and low growls punching from his chest, and Bucky feels whole for the first time in the last week.

The small contented sigh bleeds into a moan when Steve's hand wraps around his cock and _pulls_. "Come on, give me another one. I wanna feel you come on my cock."

Bucky whines. "I—oh, 'm so close—"

"I know you need it; your gorgeous cock is so hard, so wet for me." Steve's hand curls tighter, flying up the precome-slicked shaft fast and hard with purpose, concerned only in pulling Bucky's orgasm from him. "Come on, baby, good boy, give it to me. Let Daddy take care of you."

"Yes, oh, please...I need...."

Steve's hand strips Bucky's cock relentlessly, and he tries to thrust into the tight fist, but his efforts are thwarted by Steve's knot locking him in place. "I want you to make a mess for me, Buck. Want your sweet little cock to squirt for me this time."

White noise roars in front of Bucky's eyes. "I—oh, shit, I'm—gonna, oh, god, D—Daddy, yes, please, Daddy, please, _please_ make me come—"

"That's it, that's my perfect boy, Daddy's perfect boy. Give it to me, come for Daddy, come on Daddy's cock!"

"Fuck, fuck, I'm—I'm— _nggghh_ _—oh, fuck, Steve!_ " Bucky shudders, Steve crushing down on top of him as he collapses on to the bed, his muscles convulsing as his ass constricts tightly around Steve. His cock jerks in the tight embrace, Steve fisting him through it, the chafing movements scrubbing against his belly and the bed until sensation becomes too much, and he whines and reaches behind him to tap at Steve's hip.

Steve releases him, sliding his arms around his chest and rolling onto his side and taking Bucky with him., knot still locked securely in its home.

"Mmmm, my perfect boy," Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

#

Bucky sags back against Steve as a muscled leg lifts to curl around his, twining them together even as strong arms lock tighter around Bucky's chest.

"Well, that was one hell of a welcome home party," Steve chuckles. "That was amazing, baby, thank you."

Bucky stiffens in Steve's embrace, panic seizing him quick and sure. The thought that Steve might think that this will be the new normal sets his heart speeding up, pounding painfully in his chest. Fuck. They should have talked first... and, well, yeah, they probably would have if Bucky wasn't diving headfirst into things like he was trying to mark off some kind of kink bucket list, too busy stuffing his mouth full of cock to talk about what this would mean for _after_.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Bucky mumbles, trying to will his body to relax.

"I can feel you thinking, Buck."

Bucky wants to run from the room and put this conversation in the 'much later' basket, but tied to Steve, that's not exactly an option right now. He should be grateful that at least Steve can't see his face. After taking a breath that feels like he is underwater, he clears his throat. "Umm, it's just... what we just did, the, uh.. the..." Bucky swallows thickly. Now the heat of the moment has cooled, he can't seem to wrap his tongue around the word that he'd been moaning not five minutes before.

"Daddy?" Steve prompts.

Bucky cringes. "Yeah, and the whole, uh, submissive thing..."

The press of warm lips onto his shoulder makes Bucky startle, and Steve hums thoughtfully. "I loved it," he says, quietly. "And any time you want to play that game again, any time you need to feel vulnerable and sweet and taken care of, all you have to do is say that word, baby."

"G-game?"

'Mhm. It's okay to want different things at different times. Your favorite cookie changes week to week; I don't expect you to be setting your sexual preferences in stone," Steve laughs softly.

"I do so have a favorite," Bucky grumbles, but the words have their intended effect, and he relaxes back against Steve. How he does that, Bucky will never know—always having the perfect thing to say, not only knowing what he needs to hear but _meaning_ it. "I love you, Stevie," he murmurs. "So much."

Steve's lips are back against Bucky's shoulder, and he can feel them curving up even through the kiss. "I know. I love you, too." His fingers dip low, trailing through the tackiness clinging to Bucky's belly. "Made such a mess of you, baby. You up for a shower?"

Bucky can feel Steve's knot starting to shrink, but it's still pulsing gently. It'll be empty soon, but he wants to keep Steve locked inside him for as long as he can. He shakes his head. "Later. Missed this... missed _you_."

"Does this mean next time you're going to come with me?"

"Oh, yeah, you're never spending more than twenty-four hours away from me ever again," Bucky says flippantly, though in his heart he means every word. The ache that has shadowed him for the past seven days has finally disappeared, and the bubbling emotions have eased, and here, in Steve's arms, the world has set itself right again. And though he plans to ask later what the hell could have caused it, an ounce of prevention is worth more than the cure, and if his body needs to stay close to his alpha, well, that's not exactly a hardship.

"I like the sound of that," Steve husks out, and Bucky startles again at the feel of teeth dragging over his bonding gland. He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, his heart stuttering in his chest before beating wildly against his ribcage as if trying to escape. He wants to cry out, to ask for the bite— _to beg for it_ —but that's not how bonding works. He can't want it enough for the both of them; Steve needs to want it to; to want _him_... a lifetime with him. Bucky's heart constricts painfully as the teeth lift, and Steve swipes his tongue over it instead, before pressing a sweet, lingering kiss. "Happy Anniversary, Buck."

The ghost of Steve's lips on his neck feels like a promise, and Bucky clings to it with everything he has. He can wait. Somehow he's managed to find the one person that lights up his soul, the one who feels like _home_ , so he can wait until Steve is ready, until he feels the same.

There's no rush. They have all the time in the world.


	3. Intrinsically Linked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky shouldn't love this intensely after just weeks together, shouldn't feel like he's so intrinsically linked to Steve that he needs him as much as oxygen in his lungs and blood in his veins. Steve has somehow become a part of him, as essential to his ability to breathe as his heart—it would be easier to rip that from his chest than trying to imagine his world without Steve in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. Kinks for this chapter are masturbation & blow jobs. I don't think I need to warn/add skips for those, though, right? 
> 
> ii. Cliffhanger fans will like this one, those with secondhand embarrassment issues probably will not. ;) 
> 
> iii. The cute little divider from firefly-graphics @ tumblr.
> 
> iv. You are encouraged to scream, flail, keysmash or get gif/emoji-happy in the comment box, I love it (and you!) all! <33

"Steve, _please,"_ Bucky whines, patting the empty spot on the bed beside him.

"You know I _want_ to, baby, but Clint will kill us both if I take one more unscheduled day off," Steve sighs heavily, grabbing a dark blue button-up from the closet. "And he's clever enough to get away with it, too."

Bucky's lips press into a tight seam. Steve's reluctance to leave him is obvious, but that's cold comfort when the familiar heat is back, itching under his skin. He drags the sheet from his body, moaning at the silken caress, cool over his flushed skin. The low sound drips from his lips like a prayer, and Steve turns, eyes immediately dropping low, finding the hard cock on display, standing proudly, begging, the tip already wet with anticipation.

"It'll be worth it," Bucky promises, wetting lips turned dry by the heat in Steve's gaze.

Steve mirrors the gesture, a flash of pink swiping over that plush lower lip. He's the perfect picture of cracking composure—knuckles blooming white, crushing creases into the shirt in his hand, the sharp ridge of his Adam's apple dancing as he swallows thickly. His desire is _palpable,_ and for a moment, Bucky is sure he's won, is sure temptation has bested responsibility. He holds his breath and waits for Steve to pounce, to tackle him back down onto the mattress with a growl, wrap a hand around his leaking cock and take his first orgasm without so much as a _please._

Eager expectation shivers over Bucky's skin, but Steve just groans and shakes his head. "Jesus, Buck." Regret eats up the desire in those dark eyes, and after one last lingering look, he turns back to the closet and resumes his task of choosing his outfit for the day.

Bucky's shoulders fall, slumping under the weight of the rejection, his breath leaving him in a frustrated huff. He _knows_ he's being selfish, greedy, _needy_ , but he can't help it. His instincts are a roaring current sweeping through him, strong and savage, and he's powerless to fight against them. Steve is the only thing that can calm them—even if just for a little while.

_"Stevie,"_ Bucky whines again, watching the alpha freeze at the nickname, knowing he's punching below the belt but too riled up to stop. "I need you. _Stevie,_ please.” He wraps his hand around his cock as Steve spins to face him. Bucky waits until stormy eyes are locked back on his cock before he pumps his fist loosely, slowly. It had just meant to be a tease for Steve, a last-ditch attempt to break him, but pleasure fizzes down Bucky's spine, pooling hot and liquid, and he gasps, tightening his grip and rocking his hips into the touch.

"Christ," Steve breathes. "How you aren't comatose after yesterday and then three times last night, I have no idea," he grinds out, looking from Bucky to the clothes in his hand before frowning at the clock on the wall. But his gaze, like always, returns to Bucky.

The clothes in his hands are abandoned, laid hastily over the dresser before he stalks toward the bed. He drops to his knees without a word, reaching forward to grip Bucky's hips, drawing a surprised gasp as they dig hard into the soft skin, dragging him across the bed until his legs are dangling off the side and his cock is inches from Steve's mouth.

Bucky lifts his fist, removing the obstacle that would deny him the feel of Steve's lips wrapping around him, but a large hand catches his and moves it back to his cock, squeezing it into place, making his fingers curl around himself.

"No, don't stop, baby. Let me watch you."

It's not what Bucky had planned, but Steve's dark, hooded eyes locked on his cock is all the convincing he needs. He clenches his fist and rolls his hips in time with the slow, tight strokes, moaning softly each time his slick palm twists over the head.

"Yeah, just like that, good boy," Steve murmurs. "You're so fucking gorgeous."

The praise burns hot and wet between Bucky's thighs. He needs to slow down, needs to draw it out, make Steve give in—make Steve _knot_ him. But the pleasure is building too fast, eclipsing everything but the need for _more_. _"St-Stevie,"_ he whimpers, tightening his grip further, strangling his slippery cock until it's blurring the edges of pain.

Steve growls at the pet name before obviously deciding turnabout is fair play, using Bucky's own pleasure pressure points against him. "S'it feel good? Does your pretty little cock feel good when you rub it like that, baby? Your leaky hole making you all wet?"

"Oh, _shit,"_ Bucky gasps, the dirty talk curling tight and hot in his gut. He nods frantically. "But it f-feels better when—oh, _fuck_ —when _you_ do it," he moans before tugging his lower lip between his teeth, running his tongue across them as he bites down hard.

"Mhmm, I know you love my hands on you," Steve husks out, warm hands sliding up Bucky's inner thighs, so close to where Bucky wants them that he almost sobs when they stop. But then thumbs are pressing divots into his legs and spreading him open—exposing him completely. Steve moans appreciatively. "But _I_ love watching you playing with yourself. Fucking _love_ watching you make yourself come for me."

Steve's blunt nails scraping a trail over sensitive skin makes Bucky tremble, his nerves sparking as smooth fingertips brush against his balls, resting heavy and swollen on damp sheets. The feather-light touches are teasing, fleeting, not nearly enough. The broken moans ripping from his throat fill the bedroom as he grinds his throbbing, aching, _empty_ ass against the bed.

"Want your knot, Steve, please? I’ll be so good for you, Alpha. _Please_.”

"I wish I could," Steve hums low and thick as his fingers work Bucky's balls. He tugs them away from the drooling cock, stretching the skin taut until Bucky wails, only then letting them spring back, flush to his body, waiting for the shuddering exhale before taking them in hand again. "I would spend all day breaking you apart, making a mess of you, sweet boy. Make you come again and again and _again_ until these—" he gives the sac in his hand a quick and almost-painful squeeze, chuckling at the way Bucky grapples at his hand, scratching at him and jerking on the bed, "—are empty, and your pretty cock is coming hot and dry." He lifts his hand and places it back on Bucky's thigh, sweeping his thumb across the pale skin. "But I cant; I _have_ to go to work. Are you going to be a good boy and come for me before I do?"

"Nuh," Bucky grinds out, stilling and loosening his hand. It takes every ounce of resolve he has—and every last drip of spite in his body—to keep from fucking up into his fist, shaking with the effort of not giving in to his need, a breath away from losing control entirely.

Steve chuckles, wrapping his hand around Bucky's smaller one and squeezing it closed again. "No? You sure about that baby? It looks like that little cock of yours is about to make a pretty mess. You gonna show me?" Bucky shakes his head stubbornly, and the low laugh sounds again. "Aww, Buck, don't be like that. I know you want to give it to me." Steve captures Bucky's hand and drives it up the shaft—guiding it, _riding_ it. A deep growl mingles with Bucky's moan when a rivulet of precome wells at the tip before sliding lazily down over their joined hands. " _There's_ my messy boy." Steve purrs. "Look at you, so fucking wet already. Need your alpha to clean you up, hm?"

Without waiting for a response or giving a warning, Steve bows forward and wet heat engulfs the head of Bucky's cock. With a strangled moan, Bucky throws his head back, mouth dropping open as the large hand wrapped around his guides it down and back up the throbbing shaft, again and again, making him jerk himself off into Steve's mouth.  
  
It's fucking _incredible,_ and Bucky is sure he's about to shatter apart, become a human kaleidoscope, the pleasure too great for his body to contain.  
  
His free hand tangles in Steve's hair, holding on for dear life as that wicked tongue licks at his leaking hole and teases the sensitive notch that makes Bucky's eyes roll up behind closed lids. The hand around his squeezes tighter, moves faster, each stroke pushing him closer to the edge.

"Oh, god, ahh, _ahh! —"_

He wants to keep his eyes open, to see those perfect lips wrapped around his cock, watch Steve's hand move his. Steve is a puppeteer pulling his strings so easily _—_ so expertly _—_ making his body _dance_. It's pleasure given selflessly, borne from love, asking nothing in return, and it's Steve's heart as much as his mouth that pushes Bucky over the peak.

“Ahh, fuck! Steve, _Stevie,_ I _—_ I’m _—you—_ fuck _—_ gonna make me come _—_ ”

Steve just hums around him, feeding delicious vibrations into his cock, guiding their hands down to the base before chasing them with his mouth, swallowing Bucky down completely _—_ and that's it, Bucky's flying.

Pleasure convulses in his core, spiraling out from his groin, and he's coming hot and thick down Steve's throat. The pleased groan rumbles through his cock as Steve swallows around him, drinking his release down eagerly before pulling up again, latching onto the pulsing head and _sucking_ even as he grips Bucky's hand painfully tight and forces it up and down furiously, milking the spitting cock into his mouth until it's spent and too sensitive, and Bucky is tugging him up as the pleasure burns through the edges into pain.

“No, no, _no_ _— too much!”_

Steve pops off and licks his lips, squeezing Bucky's hand before releasing it. "Hmm, that's it. From now on, I'm having _you_ for breakfast, sweet thing."

Bucky groans, flopping back onto the bed, boneless, chest heaving. "Yeah, I'm on board with that," he pants softly, his heart slowly starting to settle into a more comfortable rhythm. "But right now, I still want you in my ass."

Steve's lips curve up as he presses a gentle kiss to Bucky's inner thigh. "Of course you do; you're my greedy boy. And I love it, baby, I really do, but I _have_ to get to work, I'm sorry." Steve trails a line of sweet kisses over Bucky's skin, the soft beard making him squirm. "I'll make it up to you as soon as I get home. How does that sound?"

"How," Bucky asks suspiciously.

"You have carte blanche when I get home, whatever you want, as many times as you want."

All of Bucky's muscles protest as he pulls himself to a sitting position. " _Whatever_ I want?”

Still on his knees, Steve looks up earnestly and nods. "Anything. I promise."

Happiness rolls through Bucky's body, warm and thick. He doesn't know why he gets to have this _—_ have _Steve_ _—_ so patient and loving and loyal and tender and _perfect_. It feels like a dream, but it's one he never wants to wake from.

Overcome with the sudden need to be in Steve's arms and hold Steve in his, Bucky slides from the bed and into Steve's lap. His ass is held steady by thick, folded thighs, and he wraps his legs around Steve's waist even as his arms encircle his alpha's neck, dropping his head to a broad shoulder. Clinging to the solid, reassuring man under him, Bucky breathes in the calming scent of stormy skies as the sea of emotion rages inside him.

He shouldn't love this intensely after just weeks together, shouldn't feel like he's so intrinsically linked to Steve that he needs him as much as oxygen in his lungs and blood in his veins. Steve has somehow become a part of him, as essential to his ability to breathe as his heart—it would be easier to rip that from his chest than trying to imagine his world without Steve in it.

"I love you," he mumbles into the skin of Steve's shoulder. "So, so much."

Steve's arms envelop him tightly, crushing them together, and Bucky can feel Steve's heartbeat quickening, working to match his own. They stay there, wrapped up in each other for what feels like both a single second and an entire lifetime, until the overwhelming emotion ebbs, and Bucky's breaths finally come easier. He doesn't know he's been crying until he leans back to search Steve's face, and a thumb brushes over his cheek, collecting the moisture from his skin.

"Buck? _Are_ you okay? If there's something wrong, you know I'll stay with you. _Always._ ”

Bucky's voice is tremulous but sure. "No, it's… I'm okay."

Uncertainty clouds Steve's eyes as they narrow. "Do you promise?"

"Promise. It's just… I really love you. You know that, right?"

The smile on Steve's lips is gentle and sweet and shouldn't be able to hold as much love as it does, and it doesn't fade as he leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of Bucky's nose. "I do. And you know I love you more." He grins as Bucky wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "And I mean it, tonight… whatever you want."

Bucky rolls his ankles, trying to force circulation back into his feet before unlocking his legs from around Steve and hopping back up onto the bed. "Fine," he huffs exaggeratedly, flopping down against the mattress dramatically. "Go to work. But I want you in your doctor's coat when you come home… and bring one of those stupid paper gowns, some gloves, and your stethoscope."

As he unfolds and pushes to his feet, Steve's groan is one Bucky feels in his gut, and he smirks. If _he_ has to endure an agonizing day filled with delicious and distracting imagery, then it's only fair that Steve should have to, too.

"Oh, baby, you wanna play doctor again?" He shakes his head as he retrieves his discarded clothes. "Forget Clint, _you_ are going to be the death of me." He walks to the en suite but pauses at the door. "What are your plans for today while I'm being driven to distraction by thoughts of _examining_ you when I get home?"

Bucky can't stop the breathy little giggle that escapes his lips. "Nat's coming over. She wants to talk about something."

Steve arches a brow. "What kind of something?"

"If I knew that, I would have said Nat's coming over to talk about whatever she wants to talk about."

Steve chuckles. "Brat."

Bucky pokes his tongue out. "You love it."

"I love _you,_ " Steve murmurs.

Bucky puts as much pout in his voice as he can manage. "Just so you know, if you're not home by six, I'm starting without you."

Steve grins as he walks backward into the bathroom, eyes raking down Bucky's naked body. "That's hardly an incentive to be early, sweetheart."

"...and I won't let you join in," Bucky adds, hitching up the corner of his lips.

"In that case, I'll _definitely_ be on time," Steve's amused promise drifts into the bedroom a moment before the sound of rushing water washes it away.

Bucky pulls Steve's pillow to his chest. He can be good; he can wait. It's only… he turns to look at the clock and curses. _Ten hours?_ The dull ache in his belly is back, along with the throbbing emptiness of his ass. He'd thought yesterday had fixed it _—_ whatever it is _—_ but having Steve inside him seemed only to be a temporary solution.

He whimpers as he grinds his aching ass against the bed. Maybe he should get Steve to give him a real exam while he has all the equipment on hand... just in case.

"Hellooo? Earth to Bucky, are you even listening to me?" Nat's disgruntled voice snaps Bucky back into the present, and he gives her an apologetic look.

"Yeah, sorry." Bucky squirms on the chair, drumming his fingers on his kitchen table. "I'm a little... out of it today."

"Mhm." Nat's eyes sparkle knowingly. "If Doctor Knot's welcome home party yesterday was so good you can't stop thinking about it today, I'm surprised you let him out of bed to go to work."

That gets a smile out of Bucky, but it falls quickly. “I _tried_ to keep him home, it didn’t work. But that's not what I was thinking about." He shakes his head at Nat's disbelieving arched brow. "Or, it was, but not like _that_ , more like…" He sighs, not sure how to explain. Foreboding has been swirling through him all morning, gossamer wisps of fog, vanishing as soon as he grabs for them, resisting his best efforts to shape them into words. But as intangible as they are, he can't shake them, the dread made worse by the fact he'd expected all of his troubles to disappear as soon as Steve came home, but his alpha had been a balm only, not a cure. "Has your heat ever come early?" Bucky asks abruptly.

Nat snorts. "Yeah, my last cycle was four fucking days early. Ruined perfectly good dinner reservations I'd been waiting weeks for."

"But that's it? That's the most out of sync it's ever been?"

"Four days isn't enough for you, Barnes?" Nat snorts.

Bucky doesn't rise to the challenge, forging ahead, needing to know Nat's answer, hoping it will help him find some of his own. "And it was because of Bruce, right?"

"Mhm. Something about my preheat and talking about putting pups in me just sent him over the edge. He went so feral," Nat sighs wistfully. "It was amazing. Best night of my life. Of course I didn't let him know that, though; he got all guilty the next day, made a hundred times worse when he realized he'd triggered my heat. That's how I ended up with Liho. Rut apology gifts are the best, aren't they?" She takes a sip of her coffee, eyes drifting to the painting Steve had painted of Bucky on the fire escape now hanging in pride of place in his small living room.

Bucky follows her gaze. He's long since committed the painting to memory, from the flowing strokes of his flying hair to the delicate splatters of stars adorning the inky sky above. Though it's easily the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, he still has moments where he can't quite believe that _that's_ how Steve sees him. But the proof is undeniable, evident in every careful dab of paint, in the tenderness Steve had imbued into a stolen moment in time, turning it into a tangible declaration of love.

Bucky remembers the night perfectly—remembers the scrapes and bangs in the apartment above him as Steve had moved in, remembers getting so distracted scribbling down recipe ideas that he'd burned the batch of sugar cookies he was baking. They were due the next day, and he had wanted to tear his hair out, but instead he'd crawled out onto the fire escape for some fresh air and to cool his head. What he doesn't remember is Steve above him, watching him. It's funny—in a world overflowing with omegas, Bucky had often felt invisible, just one in a sea of millions, and yet the one born to stand out had been the one to see him, Steve had found him while going unnoticed himself.

"—cky?"

"Huh? Sorry." Bucky shakes himself. "What was that?"

"I asked why you were asking."

Bucky fiddles with his own untouched mug, turning it in his hands as Nat's assessing gaze settles on him. "I was just curious, is all."

"Uh-huh. The same way you were _just curious_ in college?" Nat teases.

Bucky's gaze snaps up immediately, cheeks flaring. "It was one night, and I was drunk and—"

"And horny, I remember," Nat laughs, the sweet melodic notes filling Bucky's apartment and making it warmer. "For what it's worth, I've only read about one omega whose heat came two weeks early, and that was so out of the ordinary they put her through a bunch of tests to find out why."

Bucky startles at the comment, sloshing coffee over his hands. But it's not the mild stinging in his skin that pulls his focus but the rolling of his stomach, and he jumps up from his chair and rushes to the kitchen sink, sure he's about to be sick. He can almost feel the blood draining from his face, taking the warmth with it, leaving only a sickly clamminess clinging to his skin.

"Shit, sorry! I'm sorry," Nat groans. "Are you alright?"

Bucky's smile is tight as he nods at his best friend, accepting the apology pulling at those perfect, red lips. "Yeah," he rasps, turning the tap on and putting his hands under the cold stream of water. It's pantomime; his coffee wasn't hot enough to do any real damage, but he needs the distraction, the excuse to be close at hand to the sink until his belly settles and his heart slows.

"I just meant normal stuff like a blood test, you know?" Nat says carefully. "A protein level test, that kind of thing."

Bucky nods again before he closes his eyes, unable to take the look filled with concerned pity any longer. But the dark veil of his eyelids are the perfect projector screens for his flickering reel of darker memories, and he holds his breath as his time in the hospital rips through him again, stirring all the pain of the tests that had almost brought the end of his life before he'd even had the chance to live it.

"Bucky…"

His nausea lingers, but the certainty he's going to be sick fades, and Bucky opens his eyes, pulls in a deep breath, and shuts off the water. "Sorry. It's okay; I'm okay. I'm just…"

"Off," Nat finishes. "Yeah."

The coarse texture of the dishcloth rubbing over Bucky's hands helps ground him as he dries them, and he carries it back to the table, twisting it between still-anxious fingers. He sinks into his chair, and the smack of his ass—still sore from the night before—on the wood is the last straw in a mountain of straw. One look at Nat's still-worried face is all it takes for his fears and doubts come flooding over his lips, rough and raw.

"I think mine might be coming early, but it's _too_ early, so I don't know—but if it's not that, then I don't know, I might be b-broken or, or something, but I feel like I'm going insane, Nat. I'm having some kind of sexual and emotional breakdown. I thought Steve coming back would fix it with, well, you know," Bucky blushes furiously, "and it _did_ help, but it didn't last, and I just want… I don't know, _more_ , god, so much more I want to cry."

Nat's hand lands on his, squeezing reassuringly. “Hey, you’re _not_ broken. You guys have been fucking like bunnies since you got together, right? And then you go and throw a whole week-long dry spell in there? Of course your body is going to have an adjustment period."

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first, too. I know what it's like to crave him; that first week was…" Bucky clears his throat carefully. "But this is different, this is _needing_ him, like when I was in heat, only… different... somehow _worse."_

"But your whole double cheesecake saga wasn't all that long ago, right?"

"Six weeks," Bucky manages weakly.

Nat nods like the matter is settled. "Well then, it _can't_ be your heat, so no tests." She releases Bucky's hands and crosses her own over her chest as she leans back in the chair. "Alright, Buckaroo, lay it on me. What are your symptoms?"

Despite the rolling of his stomach, the aching of his ass, and the mutiny of his mind, Bucky can't hold back the amused laugh. "Seriously? I'm dating a doctor, but you think _you're_ going to diagnose me?"

Nat raises a knowing eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Have you asked for Steve's opinion yet?"

Bucky hesitates. "Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to worry him. Or have to deal with him being worried," Bucky admits.

“Does he have _reason_ to be worried?”

"No, I'm f—" Bucky's denial dies on his tongue because the truth is, he doesn't know if he's fine, not really. If it _is_ his heat, then his body has suffered some kind of catastrophic failure, and there's probably nothing Steve can do. But surely the odds of that happening are slim to none. He doesn’t even know if it _can_ come so early. _Something's_ wrong with him…but it's unlikely to be serious, surely. Nat's expectant gaze weighs more with each passing second, and he gives the only answer he can. "I don't think so."

"Well, there you have it. Steve can't diagnose you if he doesn't know the symptoms, so I still have better odds. What have you got to lose?"

There's no teasing glint in Nat's eyes, no laughter tugging at her lips, and the tension in Bucky's body drains away slowly. What _does_ he have to lose? If a problem shared is a problem halved, he may be able to shoulder it a little longer before he has to tell Steve.

He nods slowly. "Mostly, it feels like a heat; I'm achy and hot, I'm tired and emotional and super fucking horny. And I'm craving things—uh, not food things, but things that… I haven't even thought about before, and now, they're just…" Bucky looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together on the table, trying to avoid thinking about last night when Steve had him up on it, fucking his throat while he cried and came untouched. He hadn't been able to even go without Steve's hands on him for as long as it took to come and get fresh clothes from his apartment, and had ended up making more of a mess of himself... and Steve. He squirms on his chair. "Um, everything's just really heightened, like someone flicked a switch on inside me, and I can't turn it off."

Nat's gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lift, and if she notices the scarlet hue to his skin, she doesn't let him know. "Just because you hear hoof beats doesn't mean it's a zebra, Bucky. Maybe you're coming down with something," she clicks her tongue thoughtfully. "There _is_ a new flu strain going around this year."

"The flu? That's your diagnosis? How do you explain the, um, sexual cravings?"

"Eh," Nat shrugs dismissively. "That's not uncommon when you get sick. Bruce gets incredibly horny, very kinky, too."

"And that was on the list of things I never needed to hear."

"All I'm saying is you shouldn't freak out. You're probably making things a hundred times worse by stressing out about it. Although considering you've been stuffed fuller than a Thanksgiving turkey for the past month, there is one test you might want to look into," Nat laughs before taking another sip of her coffee.

Bucky stares at her blankly before she waggles her eyebrows in such an exaggerated way that his cheeks burn hotter, but he shakes his head, dismissing her teasing immediately.

"No, that's the only thing I'm sure it's _not_. All the random heat hookups I've had in my life, all without birth control, have taught me two things: one, nine out of ten alphas are selfish assholes, and two, my body is a barren wasteland where nothing can ever grow."

"You don't know that, Bucky. Just because you haven't been knocked up yet, doesn't mean it'll never happen."

"If I had a magic eight ball, I'm pretty sure it would disagree with you," Bucky says lightly. "After Hy— _everything_ that happened, it's hardly a surprise. And it's not like I grew up wanting a whole litter of pups or anything, so it's not a big deal." He smiles tightly before nudging Nat with his elbow. "Not like some people I know. Speaking of Bruce going feral, how come he hasn't pupped you up yet?"

Nat's eyes narrow, and Bucky can tell she wants to say more, to reassure him or comfort him or rebuke him, but after searching his eyes, her lips twist to the side, and she follows his blatant lead, though not without obvious reluctance. "We decided to wait one more year before I start popping them out. Give the business a chance to get up and running before I'm walking around with crying pups attached to my tits twenty-four-seven."

Bucky snorts. "I don't think that's how it works. You might want to buy one of those What to Expect When You're Expecting books. But, wait… what business?"

"You really weren't listening to me at all, were you?"

"Sorry," Bucky offers sheepishly. "I'm listening now, though." He draws an X over his heart. "Promise."

Nat sighs. "I've finally taken the leap and turned the blog into a fully-fledged subscription service. I've been thinking about it for the past six months since things really blew up, and I realized it's either now or never, and I went with now. You're looking at the CEO of Black Widow Bites."

"Nat, that's amazing! I'm so happy for you." For the first time all day, Bucky's smile is wide and genuine, his happiness for his best friend overflowing, the warmth in his chest burning away the chill of his own misery. "You're going to do amazing things, I know it."

“Correction; _we’re_ going to do amazing things.”

"Yeah," Bucky drawls, eyebrows furrowing. "That's going to need some further explanation."

"If you'd been listening half an hour ago, you'd know I came to offer you a job, and I'm really hoping you'll say yes."  
  
  


Bucky smells the cherry-scented beta approaching before he sees her. He spins on his heel hastily, turning away from the shelf he'd been pouring over just as she appears beside him with a fake interested smile and bored eyes.

"Hello, sir. May I be of any assistance to you today?"

Bucky reaches out blindly to the shelf in front of him, fingers closing around the nearest item and yanking it to his chest. "Nope," he squeaks before clearing his throat. "No, thanks, I'm good. I was just thinking about buying some of…" He looks down at the plastic packaging in his hand and winces. "Uh, these extra-large adult incontinence pads," he reads from the helpfully large print on the wrapper.

The embarrassment is so intense, he feels like he's actually dying a little inside, but the small voice in the back of his mind is his saving grace, whispering that it could have been worse—he could have blurted out what he was actually thinking of purchasing.

The blonde beta's eyes dip to the bulk pack of liners in his hands, wearing the uninterested look of someone who has seen a lot, and nods. "Are they the right ones? We have a large variety—"

"Oh, yeah, no, these are, uh, the ones I always get," Bucky chokes out, face burning. "The uh—" his eyes flick down to read the bright white letters stretched across the blue plastic "—extra absorbent pads hold up to four cups of liquid for all-night protection."

Bucky's not sure if the full-body flush is a new symptom of his maybe-heat, or if his mortification has spread from his cheeks to the rest of his body, but the beta either doesn't notice or doesn't care—Bucky's bet is on the latter—and gives him another insipid smile.

"Okay. If you have any questions or need help deciding on a purchase, we here at ProCare are happy to assist you in any way you need."

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Bucky mutters as she turns away. He waits until she takes a left at the end of the aisle and shoves the packet of pads back onto the shelf. He drops his head to his hands with a groan.

He doesn't know how long it takes for him standing rooted to the spot, taking deep, calming breaths in through his nose before he battles back the urge to flee from the pharmacy and never, _ever_ show his face here again. It's only the nagging feeling he can't shake, a grain of sand abrading the delicate certainty of his mind, that makes him hold his nerve. After checking both ends of the aisle is free from other shoppers and staff, he turns back to the facing shelf.

It's fit to bursting with dozens of options, and panic starts to flutter wildly in his throat, keeping time with his racing heart. There's too many to choose from—different brands, different styles, some with lines, some with crosses. There are early detection and quick results options, tests with date indicators, ninety-nine percent guarantees, and multi-packs.

Analysis paralysis grips him, a cold hand around his throat that makes a wave of heat prickle over his skin. He wants to cry, wants to run from the store… wants to laugh at how fucking absurd it is that he's here, for even considering this is a possibility.

He can't be…

He _can’t_.

He would know… right?

The only reason he was in the pharmacy is to fill his suppressant prescription, but wandering around the store waiting for the pager in his hand to go off, he had somehow ended up in the family planning aisle. He'd laugh if he weren't on the verge of a panic attack, knowing it's the _lack_ of planning that draws most omegas to this particular section, staring at the wall of pretty pink and blue boxes like a jury waiting to pass judgment.

Only desperate or hopeful people end up here, and Bucky is very, very desperate. Hell, he's hanging his hopes on the prescription Clint had given him a month ago, praying it will fix his haywire body. He'd not had a chance to try it, not after he and Steve finally arrived on the same page, and he'd been able to give his body what it craved, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try it. It's his Plan Z at this point, the last step before he's going to have to talk to Steve.

But… it wouldn't hurt just to be sure, would it? Steve would probably get him to take one to rule it out regardless of Bucky's protests that he's infertile, so if nothing else, it would just be saving time. And, he could always use it as a physical _I told you so_ to Nat...

The pager in his hand starts to vibrate, flashing red, and Bucky loosens his death-grip, only now realizing his fingers are aching. He grabs a random box from the shelf hastily, holding it against his belly as he makes his way swiftly to the counter.

The kind-faced, grey-haired omega in a white coat takes the pager and slips it onto a rack filled with a dozen more before smiling at him kindly. "Anything else, dear?"

"Um, j-just this, please," Bucky croaks, thrusting the test across the counter.

She takes and scans it before placing it into a brown paper bag along with his prescription. Bucky pays for the items with a shaky hand, grabs the bag, and with his heart in his throat, finally flees the store.

Bucky stops scowling down at the empty little ovals to pace his bathroom, making a mental note to leave a negative review on this particular brand of test… whatever it is. He should have grabbed the one with _rapid_ plastered across the box because whoever designed this one obviously did not understand that quick is subjective when you're waiting to find out if your life is about to change forever—three minutes might as well be an eternity.

He cards his hands through his hair and huffs out a frustrated breath. He's being stupid, getting all worked up over nothing. He can't be pregnant—he can't _get_ pregnant; he should never have let Nat sow that seed into his mind. But now it's there, and thanks to her he'd been an unraveling ball of stress for his entire journey home, clutching the little brown bag to his belly like it contained the Hope Diamond.

The other subway passengers had given him a wide berth and dark looks, eyes flicking to the brown bag before lips curled as if they just _knew_. As if they recognized that no pure, moral omega would require such a bag, only those who get knotted and knocked up a month into their relationship with no plans for the future or bonding marks in sight. He might as well have left the pharmacy with a scarlet letter emblazoned on his chest.

But he'd finally made it to his apartment, ascending the stairs on shaky legs, heart beating against his ribs as if it was trying to break free. His emotions are still a squall raging through him unchecked, dragging each thought into the darkest depths of his mind, swallowing up logic and turning it to fear.

Bucky steels himself and walks back to the basin. His hand feels clammy and strangely detached as he reaches for the three tests resting on the porcelain shelf. Peeing on all three sticks at once hadn't been his finest moment, but his anxiety had seized his brain as much as his heart, and by the time he'd realized, it was too late.

But now… now he's glad for it.

The strain in his muscles eases, his shoulders sagging as he stares down at the three single lines staring back at him. Though he couldn't recall the brand of the test if his life depended on it, the one thing seared into his mind is that two lines equal a positive result. He squeezes his eyes closed, his head bowing to his chest.

He'd known, of course he had, he just… got scared. He still remembered Steve's reaction that day in the clinic with haunting clarity, the moment of palpable relief when finding out Bucky wasn't pregnant. He tries to ignore the pain that twists inside him, sharp and deep. They hadn't talked about that day since.

...They hadn't talked about a lot of things.

"Hey, baby, are you—"

Bucky's eyes fly open as he spins toward Steve's voice, the three tests slipping from his hand, falling and hitting the tiles by his feet with hollow clicks. Standing in the bathroom doorway, Steve is dressed in his white coat, and Bucky can see the mint green gown poking out of the leather bag clutched in his hand, but his eyes… his eyes are locked on the three sticks littered across the floor.

Bucky follows his gaze down, to the single test resting face-up in front of his socked feet... to the _two pink lines_ staring back at him.


	4. Irrevocably Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky presses a trembling hand to his belly. He doesn't feel any different, but how can that be when his entire world has just been irrevocably changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. ...So, don't blame me, you guys asked for it. :)
> 
> ii. Feel free to take to the comments to scream at me or Steve or Bucky or all of us, all messages are c/o: my brain, anyway. 
> 
> iii. <333 Just remember the #happyending tag, m'kay? Just breathe.

_“You’re pregnant?”_

The shock in Steve’s voice is ice water down Bucky’s spine, spurring him into mindless motion. He bends without thought, reaching down to snatch the test from his feet, and as trembling fingers curl around the hard, white plastic, he can’t tear his eyes from the two bright pink lines.

“No, I’m not—it’s not—it was only one, I swear. It was _negative._ I must have… I don’t know what happened, I must have done something wrong.”

His heart is a dizzying, rapid flutter as his world unravels around him. He shakes the stick in his hand as if it’s a magic eight ball and he can change the result, but the two lines are still staring up at him defiantly when his hand stills again.

The soles of his sneakers squeak as he pivots on the tiles, the sound jarring the tense silence in the room as he scans the floor around him. But the five steps he uses to collect the other tests are wasted, and his world frays a little more as his eyes fix on the six pink lines.

“I don’t… They _weren’t_ positive. There must have been a mistake. They must default to two lines after the time is up or… or something, and I—god, I really shouldn’t have peed on all three at once.” His shaky laugh is riding the edge of hysteria—too high and reedy—and holding no trace of humor. “I’m not—I messed it up, I _must_ have. I should have read the fucking instructions.” Hand outstretched, Bucky lunges for the empty box sticking out of the trash by the sink but Steve’s arms catch him, locking around his chest and pulling him back upright.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” Steve says quietly. The ringing silence in the room stretches on until Bucky finally drags wide eyes up to Steve's, flinching when he finds them a mirror to his own shock. “Listen to me, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s _okay_ —”

“No, it’s not! I don’t understand, it’s not possible. I can’t even have pups!” Bucky shakes his head furiously, desperation clawing at the words, turning them rough.

Confusion presses deep between Steve’s brows but the strong arms wrapping around Bucky don’t loosen. “Who told you that?”

“No one told me, it’s just… I _know_ I can’t, okay? It would have happened long before now with the number of alphas…” Bucky breaks off at the low growl rumbling from Steve’s chest. “I, uh, I mean, I know it's probably side-effects from Hydr—uh, I just… _I can’t._ It’s the only logical conclusion.”

The steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest is calculated and hypnotic. Bucky wants to press close, listen to the familiar, soothing rhythm of Steve’s heart and let it calm his own. He wants to pretend that this is nothing but a bad dream that he’s going to wake up from and find everything is as it’s always been.

“I think you’re partially right.” When he finally speaks, Steve’s voice is careful, his tongue weighing every word before offering it to Bucky. “With your levels so low for so long, you probably _couldn’t_ get pregnant because you didn’t have enough protein to sustain your own body let alone a pup. But now that you’re getting a very regular supply, that’s changed.”

Bucky presses a trembling hand to his belly. He doesn't feel any different, but how can that be when his entire world has just been irrevocably changed?  
  
“I _can't_ be pregnant,” he whispers. “I can't be."  
  
The tests tumble from numb fingers, and he sags against the hard wall of Steve’s chest as his knees give out. He barely registers Steve catching him and scooping him up—his brain is too overwhelmed with internal stimuli to spare focus for the external.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when they open again he’s on his sofa in the living room and Steve's hovering above him, concern pinching those beautiful features tight. His lips are moving but Bucky can't hear anything over the buzzing in his head.

Everything is just _wrong._ He’s being torn apart and compressed at the same time, his thoughts moving both too fast and too slow—swirling chaos like water circling a drain, yet drowsy and distorted as if his whole head is underwater.

He can’t grasp the threads of his old reality and new, can’t make the ends meet. _Pregnant?_ It doesn’t feel real. How could it be possible that he’d been so wrong for so many years? He’d have more readily believed the world was flat than his belly could become round and swollen with a pup.

He presses a hand to his mouth as his stomach rolls violently, bile burning—sour and acidic—at the back of his throat.

“Buck? Are you okay?”

“Okay?” The word feels strange on Bucky’s tongue, bitter and foreign. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I feel like I don’t know _anything_ anymore. Everything I thought I knew was wrong; _I_ was wrong. I thought I was going into heat.”

“Heat? That’s not possible; your last heat was only six weeks ago.”

“I know. That’s what Nat said, too, but I didn’t know how else to explain everything,” Bucky sighs, drawing his knees up, tucking his chest to his thighs, and curling his arms around them. “I knew something was wrong with me, and it turns out I was right, just wrong about what.”

Hesitantly, Steve sinks onto the empty cushion beside Bucky but makes no move to touch him. His spine is rigid, body coiled tight, ready to spring back to his feet at any second. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“It started a couple of days before you left and then kinda got worse. I thought it was because you weren’t here after I was so used to us, uh… being together so much.” Bucky can feel the red biting at his cheeks, but the warmth is a small comfort against the cold that's set deep into his bones.

Steve’s fingers carve tracks into his hair as he sweeps it back off his forehead, up away from the deep furrow of his brow. “I should have realized. Pregnancy can mimic a heat. A growing pup requires a lot of protein, so as your levels become low, your body will crave it. And,” he sighs, “that explains last night, at least.”

“Last night?”

“During pregnancy, everything is heightened, including your innate submissive omega nature.”

Bucky understands that sentence immediately, even through the molasses of his mind. “So the D-da—ah, um—the presenting and…”

“All of it,” Steve confirms before spitting out a dark curse under his breath. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have realized. I thought after the week away, you were just a little keyed up, and it was simply another thing you wanted to try.”

“No, I was and it is,” Bucky says quickly. “And this isn’t your fault; it’s mine. I should have been on birth control with how often we were… but I’ve never… I didn’t think I needed it. I’m so sorry.”

Steve brushes a lock of hair from Bucky's cheek, tucking it behind his ear. “Hey, shh, it's okay. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do.” Bucky blinks quickly against the burning of his eyes, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. “I ruined everything,” he breathes out softly, dropping his head to his knees.

“Ruined? What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t even decided you want—” Bucky barely stops himself in time, driving his teeth into his lip, watching as confusion clouds Steve's face.

“I haven't decided I want _what?”_

_Me._ The word dies in Bucky’s throat, burning away before he can wrap his tongue around it, and the acrid ashes of truth threaten to choke him.  
  
He wants Steve with everything he has, everything he is and he's known it since that first night they were together. But Steve obviously doesn't feel the same. They haven't even talked about bonding, so how can he expect Steve to welcome the lifetime commitment that will come of having a pup together?

The thought is a blade slicing over the ribbons of his mind, making them twist and curl in on themselves, finding the memories of Steve sagging back against the clinic door only weeks ago, recalling the relief on his face when he'd found out there was no pup, and his readiness to sign his name to the procedure when he thought there was.

And maybe that’s the answer.

If there was no pregnancy, things could go back to how they were. If Steve had been willing to sign off on it once, there’s no reason he wouldn’t again. Maybe he doesn’t have to lose Steve after all.

Except… he does. A part of him, at least. A tiny, miracle piece.

Bucky hadn’t been completely honest with Nat when he said he hadn’t thought about having a family. True, in those years of random-but-necessary hook-ups, the only time it had flitted through his mind was accompanied with gratitude he couldn’t get knocked up. But all of that had changed when he’d met Steve.

Wistful dreams of a dark-haired pup with summer sky eyes had passed from his slumbering thoughts to his waking ones. He knew it would never happen, his heart aching picturing Steve cradling their tiny, fragile pup in those powerful arms so tenderly.

But those little glimpses of what could have been in another life was enough. There was an odd comfort to be found in the fact Steve wanted pups no more than Bucky could give them to him, knowing that he’d never have to choose.

Or so he'd thought.

“Buck? What haven’t I decided I want?”

“Oh, um…” Bucky drops his gaze to his jeans, trading bright blue for dark, unable to lie to Steve’s face but powerless to give voice to his biggest fear. "To live together," he mumbles.

“I didn't know you wanted to," Steve says slowly, searching Bucky's eyes like he can sense the lie. "But that's an easy fix, Buck, we can move your—”

“No.” Bucky cuts in abruptly, guilt churning in his gut. “That’s not what… This isn’t just about me. I need to know what _you_ want. It’s your choice in the end, anyway,” he adds softly.

“No, it’s not; it’s yours. I would _never_ make you do something you didn’t want to, Buck. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Do you want this pup?” Bucky blurts the question without meaning to, his gaze snapping up in time to see Steve open his mouth, his lips moving to form an answer before his jaw clenches tightly.

“I want what you want,” Steve says carefully after a moment, his face trained impressively impassive.

“How can you say that when you don’t know what I want?”

“Because it’s _your_ body, Bucky.”

“And it’s _our_ baby, Steve," Bucky snaps.

“I know that, and _you_ are _mine_. God, Buck, I want—I just, I want—” Steve jolts to his feet and starts pacing in front of the couch. His fingers land on his hips, tips pooling red under the pressure. “Jesus, I can’t do this. I can’t tell you what to do. Whatever your decision, I will respect it."

_I can’t do this._

Bucky pushes to his feet abruptly. His control is starting to slip away, and he doesn’t want to be in front of Steve when it breaks completely. “I need to lie down.”

“Yeah, of course." Steve stops moving, but his muscles are still wound tight, the lines of anguish still etched deeply into his face. "Do you want to spend the night here or upstairs?”

“Here,” Bucky says quietly, hugging his arms around himself. “Alone.”

“Buck…” Steve takes a step toward him, hand outstretched, but Bucky side-steps out of reach.

“It’s my choice—that’s what you want, right? For me to choose? Then I need some time to think.”

“That’s not what I—”

“ _Please,_ Steve. I…” A sad smile twists Bucky's lips. _“I can’t do this,_ ” he echoes Steve's words back to him. “Lock the door on the way out,” He says flatly, not waiting for Steve’s reply before turning and heading to the bedroom. His body is leaden, feet dragging over the soft carpet, each step away from Steve harder than the last.

He closes the door gently without lifting his gaze, not brave enough to glance at Steve's face. Whatever expression he finds can do nothing but cause him pain, and he's not sure he can survive more. He sinks onto the edge of the bed, wraps his arms more tightly around himself, and stares at the door. It’s only a slab of wood but it might as well be an immovable object.

With stale air trapped in his lungs, and heart pounding in his throat, he waits for Steve to storm into the room, to gather him into his arms and tell him it’s all going to be okay. Steve is going to say that he wants this pup, that they'll be bonded and raise the pup together and live happily ever after and it’s all going to be okay.

Bucky waits, but the door remains shut.

His lungs are burning by the time he hears the quiet snick of the lock followed by the unmistakable sound of the front door closing. The fact slams into Bucky like a physical blow to his chest, emptying his lungs in a broken sob.

It feels too much like a prophecy of what's to come. But as devastating as it would be to have Steve leave him, there is another possible outcome that's even worse.  
  
If he decides to go ahead with the pregnancy, Steve _will_ stick to his word, of that, Bucky has no doubt. Steve will accept the decision and try and make the best of a life he never wanted for himself because that’s the stupidly good man that he is. Day by day, he’ll stay and he’ll try, but the love will fade from those bright eyes, they'll turn hard and cold and distant, swallowed up by resentment and regret. And that wouldn’t hurt Bucky; that would kill him.

But the thought of stealing the life growing inside of him makes his heart ache in a strangely fierce way. God help him, but he _wants_ this pup. And though the idea of raising it alone is terrifying, the thought of letting a precious part of Steve disappear from this world is unimaginable.  
  
No matter which way he turns the possibilities over in his mind, though, he can't make the pieces fit. If he keeps the pup he loses Steve, to keep Steve he has to lose the pup. It’s an impossible decision, and he loses either way.  
  
He can't force his decision on Steve any more than he could change his mind. Despite the filthy words Steve growls when they're locked together, of breeding him up, the harsh reality is that it’s nothing more than just another fantasy. Bucky could no more introduce Steve as _Daddy_ to Nat than Steve wants to be an actual daddy to a pup.

At least not yet.

Maybe in a few years, Steve will change his mind. But then, there’s no guarantee that they’ll even be together in a few years. The sudden thought of Steve having pups with someone else is a knife in his chest, ripping his heart to shreds.

Bucky drops his head to his hands. What if waiting for Steve to want pups ends with him having a change of heart about _him_ instead? They're not bonded, there's nothing to keep them together. Hearts are fickle and time is testing, and they could grow apart, fall out, break up. The future is unwritten, and it doesn’t promise a happy ending.

The only way to be certain he gets at least one of his heart’s desires is to sacrifice the other.

He collapses down onto the mattress and curls up on his side, pulling Steve’s pillow to his chest as he does. The scent of storms is fading already, but Bucky buries his nose into it, pulling in a shuddering breath as the dam inside him shatters, and the flood of tears he’d worked so hard to hold back finally spill free.


End file.
